


Walk Through

by Wordweaver



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Complete, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mugiwara no Ichimi | Straw Hat Pirates, Nakamaship, Relationship(s), ZoSan - Freeform, sanzo - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-02-17 13:04:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 127,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2310614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordweaver/pseuds/Wordweaver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief stop-over on a sunny little summer island has consequences for the Mugiwara... Because the Grand Line never fails to deliver trouble when you least expect it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Life's A Beach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer (in case anyone really need this spelling out):  
> One Piece and all the characters therein are the fabulous and heart-poundingly glorious creations of the super-talented Eiichiro Oda: may he be forever blessed for producing them. I just get to play with some of them for a while for fun not profit, for which I am suitably and humbly grateful.
> 
> Last but not least: fanfic writing is a solitary pleasure… But much enlivened by the kudos/reviews/comments of readers. If you feel even slightly moved to leave me some feedback, be assured it will gladden my heart. (If it's not your thing, then no worries.) Please feed the fanfic writers occasionally, it makes them purr and have happy feelings... And write more, obviously.

_\-----_

 

_To reach our dreams, we must walk through nightmares._

_\- Anonymous_

 

\-----

 

The sand was soft and warm underfoot, fine as sifted sugar. It gave evenly when he stepped onto it, moving silkily between his toes and caressing the arches of his feet. When he stood still for a moment he could feel the gentle heat of it, a billion tiny grains of sea-fragmented coral and shells generously yielding their sun-soaked energy to his receptive skin.  
  
 _It comes from the Blue. Even the land here on the Grand Line is made from the sea._  
  
Sanji stirred the sand with the toes of one foot, standing looking out at the waves rolling in over the reef further out. Pale blue sky came down to meet bright blue water, edged with white far out where the coral just under the surface threw the surf up.  
  
 _The sea is making islands… For a while, anyway. Until something happens. One day the ocean floor shifts, or the currents change: and the coral loses its place near the sun and dies. And then the sea will carry the land away, little by little, till it’s reborn somewhere else._  
  
The water looked inviting. He took a few steps until he reached the waves, standing in their edges as they curled and flattened and sank into the sand. The seawater that lapped around his ankles hardly felt cooler than the air. He was tempted to wade in deeper, but that would mean rolling up his trousers further; and for now he couldn’t be bothered. It was nice just to stand here, feeling his feet sink slowly into the wet shifting sand: letting the sea tug at him gently. A nice peaceful feeling flowered in his chest.  
  
 _This is all right._  
  
Beside him a pebble flew into the water with a loud _plop!_ and a splash, throwing up droplets that spattered his trousers. Sanji felt his nice peaceful feeling cease to blossom. He let out a sigh. “It’s like having a delinquent six year-old lurking about. Go play elsewhere, why don’t you. This is a nice classy beach.”

“I didn’t hit you with it.”

“Lucky for you.” Sanji reached into his pocket for a cigarette and his lighter, sparked up and inhaled without turning round. A moment later, a second plop! and splash announced that this sea bombardment was ongoing. “Fuck off, marimo. I’m trying to enjoy the moment here.”

“No-one’s stopping you.”

“You’re stopping me.” Sanji turned around. “Look, there’s a whole perfectly good island for you to go and get lost in. This is my bit of beach. Piss off.”

Zoro regarded him levelly, from where he sat on the sand with one arm propped lazily across his knee. “Who died and made you King of the Pirates? I like it here.”

“I could make you not like it here.”

Zoro gave him a dangerous grin. “You and whose army, shitty cook?”

Sanji considered following up on his threat, then decided that he couldn’t be bothered right now. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than kicking your ass across this island… But you’re not worth it.” He took a lungful of smoke, then let it out slowly. “It’s beneath me to be perturbed by plant life.” He turned back to the view, which was still completely and utterly beautiful.

There was a lapse of maybe a minute before the next splash came in the sea, on Sanji’s other side this time. It must have been a considerably bigger stone because the water droplets came up higher, soaking into his shirt. He felt his jaw clench. “Throw one more and the next rock is coming right back at you, you irritating bastard.”

The silence that followed this was not filled with the promise of acquiescence. So Sanji was completely unsurprised when after a short pause a fourth – still larger - stone winged into the water about an inch from his left leg.  
  
 _Right, you fucking pain in the ass troublemaker –_  
  
Sanji reached down even as the splash began, his fingers grabbing the stone as it sank in the sea; pivoting on one foot as he closed his fingers around it, his arm coming around to hurl it back up the beach at where Zoro still sat. He aimed for that mossy green head and put some speed behind his throw. Zoro’s hand blurred up in front of his face: there was a sharp whack! as the stone smacked into his palm. Sanji had had no doubts that the swordsman would block his throw. Still he was a little gratified to see Zoro’s arm jerk a little under the force of the impact. Curling his fingers around the stone, Zoro lowered his hand. “That was a bit hostile.”  
  
“Not even close. But you want to shoot for hostile, go ahead.” Sanji watched the stone in Zoro’s hand carefully. He wouldn’t put it past the damn marimo to throw it back, with interest. But after a few seconds, Zoro tossed the stone away onto the sand. Sanji relaxed, ever so slightly.

“I didn’t pitch them at you. Only in the water.” Zoro’s tone was calm, but that was a six year-old’s rationalisation. _I didn’t touch you, I only went near you._ It was the kind of infantile playground logic that sometimes came out of Zoro’s mouth, and Sanji wasn’t going to allow it to pass.  
  
“I made it perfectly clear even to a moron like you that if you carried on tossing stones you were going to get a taste of your own medicine. So quit complaining. You started it.” Those last words regrettably also sounded somewhat six year-old-ish… But Sanji reasoned that when dealing with an infantile mind, sometimes you had to give it what it understands.  
  
Zoro’s brows drew down a little. “Oi, cook… Get off your high horse. It’s only a little seawater. Your shirt’ll dry.”  
  
Sanji drew in a mouthful of smoke; then let it curl out again as he spoke. “It’s not the water, stupid. It’s the fact that apart from when you’re hoisting weights or asleep and snoring loud enough to kill sharks, you can’t seem to exist for more than three seconds without stirring up trouble. Is it some kind of genetic deficiency? Or do you have to work at it?”  
  
This time Zoro’s brows dropped down into the familiar territory of The Glower. “I’m just sitting here.”  
  
“I noticed.” Sanji turned back to face the sea. “Look… This is a nice peaceful little summer island. The sun is shining, the sand is warm, the sea is blue. We may not be here long, if the log pose resets quickly. So I plan to make the most of it. To enjoy the charms of a lovely place, devoid as far as possible of the crew of assorted lunatics that I usually have to share my living space with. And that includes you, marimo. Because strange as it may seem, I’m not in the mood for your crap. Go pester someone else. I’m sure you could work Nami up into a fight, if you try hard enough. She hasn’t hit anyone for at least two days.”  
  
This time there was a longer pause; then the sound of sand shifting underfoot. Sanji glanced back over his shoulder, wary of an impending attack: but Zoro had simply got to his feet. Giving the cook a final look under still-lowered brows, he turned his back and began walking away up the beach. Sanji watched him go for a few more moments… before turning his head back to look at the sea once more. It took him a while to realise that although he was gazing at the ocean, his mind was on Zoro’s angry look.  
  
 _Damn that irritating bastard. He’s not even here any more and he’s still crowding me._  
  
Sanji wondered what the payback would be. Because sooner or later, with him and Zoro, there was always payback. Either a quick storm of kicking and scrapping till the irritation blew itself out; or a longer drawn-out process of attrition that sometimes went on for days. And nights. That was the hell of it. Even when they were close and raw with wanting, when skin needed skin, when they could feel each other’s heartbeat and shivering breath, sometimes then it still played itself out. Zoro’s hand tightening so hard around Sanji’s wrist that the next day there were the ghostly bruises of his fingers marking the skin. Or Sanji kissing Zoro at the angle where his neck eased into the hollow of his collarbone, then the kiss becoming a bite as his teeth almost broke the skin and Zoro let out a hiss. Pain and pleasure: settling scores.  
  
The sea slid back and forth around his ankles, soothing, calming. Sanji took a last pull on his cigarette, then flicked it into the water.  
  
 _Well, I’m not going to worry about it. That idiot had it coming, tossing rocks about. And if he tries any kind of payback, I’m ready for him._  
  
Somewhere in one of the innermost carefully guarded corners of his heart, Sanji felt a little stir of expectation. Of anticipation. A warm, wicked little flame.  
  
 _I’m ready for him._  
  
He stayed standing in the edge of the sea until the sun began to drop close to the water.

 

 

It was way after supper time when he got back to the ship, but for once Sanji wasn’t feeling especially bothered about the regularity of mealtimes. He’d cooked a gargantuan breakfast – his usual fare whenever they made landfall, setting everyone up for whatever explorations and adventures that might arise – and left portable snacks of various sorts laid out on the galley table with the cursory instruction, “Self service lunch,” before he’d gone ashore. Of course there was always the risk that when he did that no-one except Luffy would get fed, but that was the crew’s look-out. He was only their cook, after all: not their mother.  
  
Predictably, Luffy was the first to appear once Sanji stepped into the galley, coming through the door with his usual hopeful grin. “Sanji! It’s been so long! Is it supper time?”  
  
“Soon.” Sanji had found from long experience that as Luffy tended not to listen to the specifics where meals were concerned, it didn’t really matter what you told him as long as it was encouraging.  
  
“Me and Usopp spent all afternoon fishing. We put everything we caught where you’d find them.”  
  
“Yeah. Thanks.” Sanji had had no trouble discovering the heap of assorted mismatched fish that had been crammed into a basket and left in the sink. Luckily most of them hadn’t been there long enough to spoil in the warm temperatures that dominated this summer island locality; and the ones that had could be used as bait another day. “I’m gonna make yakizakana. It won’t take long.”  
  
“That’s good. I’m so hungry.”  
  
“I’ll call everyone when it’s ready.” Sanji had no intention of having Luffy breathing down his neck while he was cooking. “Is everyone on board, or are some of us still wandering about ashore?”  
  
“Everyone’s back. You were the last to return to the ship.”  
  
“Right. Then I’d better get cooking.” Sanji emphatically turned his back and picked up a knife.

 

 

After supper it stayed warm even once the sun had set. It didn’t take Sanji long to wash up and set things to rights ready for morning: that done, he headed outside for a smoke. Nami and Robin were sitting on the foredeck with a lantern between them, speaking softly together; every now and then laughter ghosted upwards. Way up front Luffy was in residence in his usual spot on the Going Merry’s figurehead. Chopper and Usopp were nowhere to be seen, each probably busy about something below decks.  
  
Sanji walked aft behind the cabin, hearing the leaves of the tangerine trees above rustle in the slight breeze that had come up off the island once the sun had dropped below the horizon. As he rounded the corner he was unsuprised to see a figure sitting crosslegged with his back to the cabin, swords propped beside him. He kept on walking to the rail, where he leaned with both elbows, still smoking. He gave it a few minutes before asking casually, “Sulking?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Funny. That’s what it looks like.”  
  
“I was just enjoying some solitude.” Pause. “Or do you think it’s just you that’s entitled to such a thing?”  
  
“I was enjoying it today, true. Until you came along.”

“Allow me to return the compliment, shit-cook. Make yourself scarce.”  
  
“To quote a certain crap swordsman: ‘Who died and made you King of the Pirates?’ I’m enjoying my cigarette up here.”  
  
“Your cigarettes stink.”  
  
 “Then hold your breath till I’m gone.” Sanji took a certain amount of satisfaction in taking an especially deep lungful of smoke, before exhaling it noisily and at length. There was a long silence from behind him. After a while, Sanji asked mildly, “Are you still holding it?”  
  
Zoro’s voice spoke so close to his ear that Sanji jumped. “How else do you think I got so close without you hearing me?”  
  
Sanji turned his head sharply, to find Zoro about six inches away. The swordsman was wearing his lazy shark grin, as he laid one elbow on the rail beside Sanji’s. “Those things are going to kill you.”  
  
“This from the man who plays with swords for a living…” Sanji took another pull on his cigarette.  
  
“I don’t ‘play’ with swords.” Zoro’s grin wiped away.  
  
“Pardon me, o mighty samurai warrior. I stand corrected. You _work_ at swords for a living.”  
  
“I don’t take the piss out of your cooking.” Zoro’s tone was sub-zero. “Are you mocking the path I follow?”  
  
“Oi, no.” Sanji was suddenly tired of sparring. “Stand down, marimo. Don’t be such an easy mark.” There was a silence, so he shot Zoro a look. “Are you going to start throwing stones at me now?”  
  
Zoro held his gaze a moment longer, an assessing look on his face… Before turning his gaze out to sea. “No stones here.”  
  
“Mm.” Sanji didn’t find that response overly satisfactory. “Then am I going to wake up tomorrow to find you’ve dropped my favourite shirt overboard again? Because that kind of crap gets pretty old.”  
  
“Why would I do that?”  
  
 _Payback._ “Because it’s the kind of asinine thing you do when you think you need to even up the score.”  
  
Zoro’s smile resurfaced, a worrying sign. “Guilty conscience?”  
  
“No. I wasn’t the one started throwing rocks, craphead.”  
  
“Whiner.”  
  
They held silence for a minute or so after this exchange, while Sanji smoked his cigarette down to his fingers. Delicately he flicked the butt out into the warm night, watching the glowing ember arc away like a shooting star before falling down into the sea. Exhaling his last mouthful of smoke, he folded his arms where they lay on the rail. “Okay. I’ve finished my cigarette. Happy now?”  
  
“Not yet.” Zoro’s arm wrapped over Sanji’s shoulders, his hand curling round his neck and tugging him closer. Sanji held back only long enough to make it more interesting: then let himself be pulled in. A moment later, Zoro’s mouth found his neck and pressed in for a kiss that was hard enough to make Sanji’s shoulders hitch up. “Nghh…” Zoro’s mouth fastened on tighter, until Sanji pulled back a little, hitting him in the ribs. “Oww! What are you, a moray eel? I don’t want you leaving teethmarks all over me.”  
  
Zoro didn’t let go of his shoulders. “Sure about that?”  
  
“Yes. So quit mauling me.”  
  
“Make me.” Zoro went in for another kiss: in self defence, Sanji turned and met him head on. There were a busy few seconds of engagement, at the end of which they broke for air. Sanji now had one hand locked onto Zoro’s arm, the other fisted in the back of his shirt. “Is the word ‘finesse’ even in your vocabulary?”  
  
“It could be. If you make it worth my while.” Zoro was grinning again.  
  
Sanji narrowed his eyes. “Subtle, too.”  
  
“You don’t like the direct approach any more? That’s a new development.” Zoro slid a hand downward. “Let’s just make sure.”  
  
Sanji felt the hand go straight to where his body was bearing witness that, lack of finesse or not, what Zoro was doing was working. “Iyarashii!”  
  
Zoro gave him a slow squeeze. “How’s this for finesse?”  
  
Sanji resigned himself. _Payback._


	2. Something Rich And Strange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji proposes an expedition to collect cooking ingredients. With Zoro as his helper. Yeah, this should go great...

_Of his bones are coral made,_  
Those are pearls that were his eyes,  
 _Nothing of him that doth fade,  
But doth suffer a sea-change, into _ _something rich and strange._

-       _The Tempest_

 

\-----

 

The next morning Zoro woke late and slowly, coming up from the depths of sleep a piece at a time. He became aware of the sounds of the cabin, the creaks and small shiftings that made up the background noise of the Going Merry. Then the uneven rhythm of someone snoring filtered in: Usopp, by the sound of it. Zoro felt himself coming wider awake but stayed where he was for the time being, eyes shut with one arm over them. He was in no hurry to get up. Not least because as he surfaced to full awareness, the memory of last night surfaced too.

He smiled under the crook of his elbow. _Finesse. Ha._ Before they were through, Sanji had quit complaining about lack of technique. Zoro liked to rise to a challenge. Mind you, rising to a challenge was never usually a problem where the cook was concerned. However damn annoying Sanji was, in the physical stakes he was always… sufficiently creative enough that Zoro found it more difficult to hold back than to participate. 

Usopp let out a particularly thunderous snore and Zoro decided his lie-in had lasted long enough. Opening his eyes he swung down from his hammock and hauled on his clothes, giving a parting glance at the still-sleeping Usopp before climbing up the ladder and out onto the deck.

It was another fine sunny day, unsurprisingly. Zoro nodded at Nami as he passed her. She was sitting on the deck with a chart spread out in front of her, making notes upon it. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Typically, she didn’t look up.

“We likely to be moving on today?”

Still without looking at him, Nami gestured to the log pose on her wrist. “It’s still working on it.”

Zoro regarded the little needle in its crystal bubble. “Funny. This island is so small, you’d think it wouldn’t have such a tricky magnetic wave. It’s not even big enough to have people living on it.”

“Size isn’t everything.” This time Nami did look up, with a sly grin. “Although I’m guessing that maybe that’s not a concept you’re familiar with.”

It was too soon after waking up to come up with a witty rejoinder to that one. Zoro settled for making a swift exit. “I’m gonna go get some breakfast.”

“Bushoumono… You’ll be lucky. Breakfast was over half an hour ago.” She bent back to her chart-making.

 

 

When Zoro entered the galley, he found Nami’s assessment of the situation to be depressingly accurate. The table had been cleared, and although Sanji was there he was just drying and stacking away crockery. “There any food?”

“I called breakfast nice and loud. You should’ve come then.” Sanji slid a plate neatly on top of a stack, turning away.

“I was sleeping.”

“Your loss.”

 _Provoking bastard._ Zoro narrowed his eyes. “Look, all I want’s something to eat. Tell me what I can have and I’ll get it myself.”

“Set one finger on my stores and I’ll slice it off.” Sanji gave him a warning look.

“Then give me some breakfast!”

“There’s coffee left, over there.” Sanji gestured at a pot on the stove. “Otherwise, you can wait till lunchtime. I’m not supplying snacks at all hours for crew who can’t get their dozy asses to the table when mealtime comes around.”

Zoro grabbed a cup from the cupboard and filled it to the brim with coffee. It was still warm but bitter enough to make him grimace. “Shitty ero-cook… You make snacks all the time for Nami and Robin. What’s with the attitude?”

Sanji swiped his dish towel around another plate, slid the plate onto the stack in the cupboard and leaned back against the sink, regarding the swordsman. “You just assume you can have anything you want. Whether or not it’s… convenient for others.”

Zoro wondered what the cook was driving at… Then thought back to the night before. “Is this about breakfast, or about something else?”

“It’s just a general observation.” Sanji shrugged, picking up the last wet plate. “Take it however you want.”

Zoro took another mouthful of coffee and twisted his mouth again. “Oi… If you’ve something to say, say it.”

“You know what I’m going to say. I’ve said it before. So this time, I think I’ll save my breath.” Sanji shot him a dry look. “Unless this time you actually plan on listening.”

“I’m all ears.” Zoro set his coffee down on the table, with dangerous deliberation.

“Really?” Sanji affected surprise. “Well, lucky me. Here goes then, for what must be the umpteenth time. Did you ever, for a second, consider that doing what you want might occasionally be varied by allowing other people’s preferences to come first?”

“For example?” Zoro could see the cook’s ire was waxing, but he was feeling stubborn.

“You want me to be specific?” Sanji raised one elegantly spiralled eyebrow. “Let me give you a clue: the line, ‘I’m going to put it in now’ fails to win prizes for heightening the mood, in pretty much every civilised social circle.”

“You didn’t mention it at the time,” Zoro pointed out. “In fact, I seem to remember you didn’t say anything much. Although you were making plenty of interesting noises.”

“Gaghh…” Sanji carefully laid the last plate to rest in the cupboard, before rounding on the swordsman. “Listen, moron. Is it asking too much, that just occasionally before we cut to the chase, you show a little – a little - ” He appeared to be reaching for a word: Zoro hoped it wasn’t going to be _finesse._ “A little – restraint?”

“Restraint?” Zoro blinked. “You want to be tied up?”

“NO, IDIOT MARIMO!” Sanji’s yell was probably audible on the foredeck. There were a few seconds of silence, then Sanji continued in lower but no less dangerous tones. “I know that you’re used to taking the lead. And I shouldn’t be surprised when that’s what, nine times out of ten, seems to get you going. But lately it seems like you’re taking it for granted that you’ll always be the one… in charge. And I’m telling you, right now: that _doesn’t_ always light my flame.”

Zoro felt the truth of the accusation. Or at least, he felt uncomfortable, which was an unwelcome confirmation that what Sanji was telling him was probably true. “You’re telling me you didn’t enjoy it last night? Because from where I was, it looked like you were - ”

“O, give me strength.” Sanji fished his cigarettes out of his jacket; pulled one out; lit it. “This is why I said I’d rather save my breath, than try to explain this to you again. Listen, you stupid sword-swinger: just because you can make me get there in the end, doesn’t necessarily mean I had the best time on the way.”

That stung, maybe more than Sanji had intended it to. But like most things that got through his defences, Zoro was well able not to let it show. Setting down his empty coffee cup, he headed for the door. “Thanks for breakfast. I think I’ve had enough.”

“Wait.” Sanji’s voice dropped a little. Zoro looked back: the cook was watching him, an expression of angry frustration on his face. “Don’t just flounce off when the conversation gets difficult. That’s taking the easy way out.”

 _Flounce off._ Zoro felt his hackles rising further at that one. “No, I don’t think so. I think it’s better I get out of here, right now. Believe me.”

“O, whatever.” Sanji sounded resigned. “Go on then. Go and heave some weights around. Have fun.”

 

 

Zoro let the galley door slam harder than it needed to on his way out. The burn of anger that Sanji’s words had lit smouldered for some time: he put it to use in his training, working up a sweat that did little to relieve the irritation inside.

 _Shitty damn cook._ Zoro finished his weights routine, turned next to cleaning his swords. Usually this was an activity that grounded him, but he found himself returning in his mind again and again to Sanji’s words.

_\- Listen, you stupid sword-swinger: just because you can make me get there in the end, doesn’t necessarily mean I had the best time on the way._

A frown drew his brows down, as he carefully slid the wiping paper along the top side of Wado Ichimonji’s blade, cleaning off any minute debris; transferred the nuguigami to the bottom side and repeated the process.

_\- Don’t just flounce off when the conversation gets difficult. That’s taking the easy way out._

The blade was dry and clean. Deliberately he picked up the uchiko ball and tapped it every few inches along the steel to scatter the blade with the fine stone powder, before wiping it along its length with another piece of nuguigami. Turning the blade over he repeated the process with its other side, taking the time to run his gaze over every inch of the katana. After the cleaning was done, he gave both sides of the blade another painstaking wipe; then took the choji oil and cloth and gave Ichimonji’s blade a slow anointing. Finally he slid the katana back into its white saya and propped it up beside his other two swords.

A footstep sounded close by. Looking up, he saw Sanji come to a halt by the rail, leaning one elbow on it. There was the inevitable reach into his pocket for a cigarette; the flicker of his lighter, followed by the wisp of bluewhite smoke. “Watching you do that, it appears that you’re capable of doing things carefully.”

Zoro began stowing away his cleaning kit. “I depend on these katana. I’d be a fool not to look after them properly.”

“Hm.” Sanji let out a thoughtful cloud of smoke. “Does that not apply to people, then? Only to lengths of steel?”

Zoro gave him a frown. “Are you picking up where you left off? I’m tired of this conversation.”

“No. I’m done. Forget I said anything.” Sanji gave a half-shake of his head, and his familiar sly grin surfaced. “I need an assistant this afternoon, to go foraging. You can make yourself useful, and lend me a hand.”

Zoro was slightly thrown by the shift in mood, which was no doubt what Sanji was counting on. “Forget it. Ask one of the others.”

“Nami’s working on her chart, Robin’s planning on going for a walk, Usopp is hammering nails into bits of wood and Chopper is taking inventory of his medicine chest. And Luffy is… Well, I don’t actually know what the hell Luffy is doing, but if I took him with me then the chances of anything I foraged getting back to the ship would be non-existent. So the sad fact is, you’re up.”

Zoro eyed him. “What exactly are you planning on going foraging for? Is this some sort of contest?”

“Nope. Just collecting small stuff: shellfish, mainly. I want to try out a new recipe for paella I’ve had knocking around in my head for a while.”

“And you need my help just to scoop up a few clams?” Zoro was sceptical.

“I don’t _need_ anyone’s help. But many hands make light work, ne? What’s the problem? You had something better to do?”

What Zoro had planned to do was to swipe a bottle of wine and get in some quality drinking and sleeping time, but there was no need for Sanji to know that. “All right, all right. Don’t get petulant. I’ll come and help you chase prawns.”

“My gratitude is overwhelming. Okay: after lunch, we’ll go.”

 

 

 

Once they were ashore and making their way along the coastal shallows, Zoro was forced to acknowledge that maybe this wasn’t such a bad way to spend a few hours. Not that he’d admit that out loud, of course. As they waded in and out of the sea’s edge, investigating promising-looking outcrops of coral and harvesting shellfish and other sea creatures under Sanji’s direction, Zoro even found himself relaxing a little. The water swirled cool around his legs; the sun was warm on his back; even the cook was less annoying out here.

“What about this?” Zoro held up a large purple-grey crab he’d prised from under the lip of a large block of coral in a rock pool, taking care to keep his fingers out of range of its wicked-looking claws. Sanji regarded it assessingly.

“Hmm… Maybe. Let me have a look.” He advanced, delicately taking the crab from Zoro’s hand and turning it over to examine it from all angles. His fingers seemed to evade the crab’s snapping claws effortlessly. A chef’s hands, skilful without thinking. “Ahh… No.” He stepped to the side and dropped the crab lightly back into the water by the coral, whereupon the animal dodged back under to safety.

“No? What was wrong with it?” Zoro was slightly piqued by this rejection of his offering.

“That was a sook, with her coral.” Sanji saw the incomprehension on Zoro’s face and translated. “A female, carrying her eggs.”

“Crab eggs? But they’re tasty, aren’t they?” Zoro was sure that he’d eaten crab roe at some point; and he recalled that it had been pretty damn good.

“Sure. But we don’t need them for this dish. Better to release her; let her keep her babies.”

“That’s unusually soft-hearted for a cook.” Zoro raised his eyebrows, grinning.

Sanji gave him a look, before turning away. “To take food we don’t need would be a waste.”

Zoro knew only too well Sanji’s views on the wasting of food. “I guess if you put her back she can raise up lots of baby crabs that might find their way into your pot one day, anyway.”

Sanji smiled, stepping forward through the ankle-deep water. “That’s partly it. But that’s not all of it. It’s about… respect.”

“Respect? For what, a crab? Now I know you’re going soft.”

“Why not? A crab. A clam. A fish. They’re all part of the same thing: the Blue. If you don’t respect the parts, you can’t respect the whole.”

“So what about those parts we’ve already picked up and stuffed into these collecting sacks? Don’t you respect them?”

“Of course I do. And I’m going to demonstrate my respect by making them into a dish that will do them justice.”

Zoro cocked one eyebrow. “That’s a weird notion of respect. Making them into soup.”

“Paella isn’t a soup, you moron. It’s a rice dish.”

“Soup, rice, whatever.” Zoro had little patience for the finer points of cuisine. As long as it tasted good – and with Sanji’s cooking, it usually did – and there was enough of it, he didn’t much care what it was called. “They’re still just gonna get boiled and eaten.”

A muscle jumped in Sanji’s jaw. “That… is not exactly what I’ll be doing.”

“Spare me the details.” Zoro meant that. “As long as you don’t serve us up something weird, that’s okay.”

“Rrhh.” Sanji’s shoulders twitched. “If I do serve up something weird, I’ll test it on you first.”

“Ha. You can try.”

“The chances of you spotting whether a dish was weird or not in the nanosecond it takes you to start devouring it are pretty slim. Not to mention, you have a palate worthy of a back-country peasant.”

Zoro wasn’t exactly sure what a palate was, but being called a peasant was something that never failed to irk him. “Just because I didn’t grow up slinging together fancy over-priced dishes and waiting hand and foot on a bunch of fussy snobs, doesn’t mean I don’t know good food when I eat it.”

“Oi, that’s it.” Sanji stopped dead and rounded on him. “I’ll continue harvesting this bit of coastline. You can go on ahead. _Way_ ahead.” His thumb jerked forwards to show where he meant. “I think we’ll probably work better with a little distance between us.”

“Suits me.” Zoro pushed past him, not worrying about whether he splashed water as he strode through the shallow sea. “I’ll try not to pick up any more crabs that you might want to bond with.”

“Go bond with yourself, seaweed-head!”

With Sanji’s words ringing in his ears, Zoro kept wading until he reached the tip of a headland of coral. The water was deeper here: as he edged round it the swell rose and soaked high into his trousers, wetting him to the waist. It didn’t really matter: he would soon dry out in the warm sun, but he wouldn’t have had to wade through the deeper part in the first place if that idiot cook hadn’t got into a snit and told him to go on ahead.

 _It’s not like I said anything that wasn’t true._ His rationalisation rang a little hollow, though. Of course Sanji had spent many years at the Baratie: and Zoro’s scathing assessment of the menu and clientele there wasn’t so far off the mark. But it had been an apprenticeship of sorts, a training ground; and as someone who’d also spent long years in training as a youngster, Zoro knew how he’d feel if someone belittled those early efforts.

The bag of shellfish bumped at his knee; he settled it further along his belt, trying to get it out of the way of his stride. His mind went back to the mother crab: to Sanji’s smile.

_\- They’re all part of the same thing: the Blue. If you don’t respect the parts, you can’t respect the whole._

The cook’s feelings for the Blue went beyond respect, Zoro knew. It was his obsession: his dream. To find the All Blue, which as far as Zoro was concerned was an even crazier notion than Luffy one day becoming King of the Pirates. It was a pipe dream: something that would depend on chance, on whatever twists of fate came their way. It wasn’t as if it was something you could work towards… Like becoming the best swordsman in the world.

At some far-down level he knew that this also wasn’t an entirely fair judgement. Sanji was a dreamer, true: but he also worked hard at his craft, whether that was cooking or fighting. Yet there was too much of the mystic in his world view, in Zoro’s opinion. Whenever the Straw Hats got to talking about life, the universe and everything (usually after the fifth or sixth bottle of wine was being passed round), Sanji was often the one who persisted in stating that there were deeper and greater forces at work in the universe than could be perceived on the surface. He never went so far as to declare outright a belief in some kind of Almighty, but it was a faith in some mystic spiritual essence, all the same. And that kind of talk set Zoro’s teeth on edge. Only idiots believed in gods. And Zoro had no intention of being an idiot.

The edge of the coral shoal dipped back towards the shore and he followed it slowly, pausing every now and then to pick up sea creatures and examine them. Without Sanji’s supervision he was fairly clueless about what might be good eating. Zoro developed his own personal theory of edibility, which was based on the concept that the more spines or slime a thing appeared to be sporting, the less tasty it probably was. He reasoned that Sanji could winnow out the contents of his collecting sack when they got back to the ship, anyway.

Glancing back along the sea’s edge he found he could barely see the cook now. Sanji was a long way back, his figure a dark dot against the turquoise water. Zoro couldn’t even tell if he was looking this way or not. Giving a shrug, he turned away and continued on along the shore.

A small outcrop of coral lay in his path, its surface sculpted into a myriad of different forms and colours: fluted curves, flower-like fans, stone pillows that looked as though they’d been embroidered with delicate traceries. Although he didn’t share Sanji’s obsession for the sea, Zoro could grudgingly admit that sometimes it put on a good display. And these coral growths seemed to be home for a vast array of weird and wonderful creatures, as colourful and varied as the corals themselves. He advanced on the outcrop and cast his gaze around it, looking for signs of life. A few tiny lemon-yellow fish flitted away at his approach; and a frilly sea slug was undulating along one craggy coral lip. Reckoning that sea slugs rated low under his improvised edibility theory, he looked past it to the sandy sea floor. His eye fell on something brightly-patterned, a few inches in front of his left foot. A shell of some sort, barely visible as if it had either just emerged from or was busy burrowing into the sand.

The hunting instinct kicked in and Zoro bent down and scooped the thing up. Bringing it out of the water, he took a look at it. The shell was a couple of inches or so long, narrowing to a blunt point at one end: it lay in his palm comfortably, its surface smooth to the touch. A slit ran almost the length of the shell, through which a pink and black fleshy body could be seen: a thin siphon that had been extended while the shell was in the water retracted itself slowly. Zoro tipped his hand, letting the shell roll over so he could see its other side. At once he was struck by the patterns that covered the shell, a delicate network of golden triangles and curling white and terracotta lines that gave the shell the look of a piece of finely decorated porcelain.

“Huh... You’re a good-looking one.” He turned the shell this way and that, admiring it. “Well: edible or not, I’ll bet that cook’d appreciate a look at you. So tough luck, chibi: you’re coming with me.” He reached for the neck of his collecting bag with his right hand, closing the fingers of his left around the shell to make sure it wouldn’t fall back into the sea.

A sudden agonising pain stabbed into the centre of his palm. It ran through him like a jolt of lightning: involuntarily, his left hand clenched tighter for a moment. Then he let out a yell as his fingers sprang open and the shell fell into the sea with a _plop._  “Chikusho!”

His eyes fastened on the palm of his hand, as he breathed in hard. At first there seemed to be nothing: then he saw, almost dead centre, a small dark red wound. Burning pain radiated out from it, shooting up into his wrist and beyond. “Nnghh...”

A thought abruptly gripped him: _Where did the damn thing fall?_ He had a sudden vision of the shell creeping along the sea floor towards his bare feet: reacting instinctively he staggered backwards, heading into the shallows. The water seemed to drag and catch at his legs, the sand giving underfoot so that he almost fell. In a flurry of spray he lurched up the shelving beach until he reached dry land, more or less upright as he swayed to a halt.

His right hand had clamped around his left wrist: once again he stared disbelievingly at the place on his palm where the shell had – what? Bitten him? Stung him? But shells didn’t have teeth, right? Did they have stings?

The little red wound had darkened already to an ugly purple: around it the skin was starting to flush pink. Unbelievably, the pain was getting worse: it was as if he’d picked up a white-hot coal and was squeezing it in his fist.

“ _Fuck_ \- ” Zoro clenched his hand, before turning and looking down the beach in the direction he’d come from. The only clear thought that found its way through the pain was, _Whatever the hell that thing was that just got me, I have no idea. But that damn cook might._ It was enough of a hope that it got him stumbling forwards, feet dragging through the warm sand.

 

 

Sanji had filled his collecting sack and was sitting just above the wave line enjoying a peaceful smoke break, when a familiar voice broke into his reverie. “Oi… Sanji!”

He sighed. “I knew it was too quiet to last…” He turned his head towards the sound, to see something that made him frown. Zoro approaching, not in his usual careless stride but hurrying; unsteady, almost staggering. And holding one arm across his chest in a way that made the chef think at first that the swordsman had fallen and broken it.

“Oi, what happened?” He got speedily to his feet. “You hurt, or what?”

Zoro came to a stop in front of him, bringing his left hand down from his chest and holding it out. “I picked up a shell and the fucking thing stung me… or some damn thing!”

Sanji looked at the outstretched hand. “What… Where? In the middle?” He reached out and took hold of the swordsman’s fingers, bending his gaze onto the little dark wound on the skin. He brushed a forefinger lightly over the place – and felt Zoro jolt as if he’d kicked him.

“Nghh - ” Zoro clenched his teeth. “Fuck – don’t touch it, you idiot!”

“Oops. Sorry.” Sanji kept his fingers well away from the centre of the other man’s palm, though keeping hold of his fingers so he could hold Zoro’s hand still and study the tiny wound. “What did this? A shell, you said?”

“Yeah – a shell – I picked it up and the damn thing attacked me!” Zoro tried to keep his hand still as Sanji studied it, though this took considerable effort.

“What kind of shell was it?”

“It was gold. And white. And brown.” At Sanji’s raised eyebrow, Zoro gave an angry shake of his head. “Fuck, I don’t know! It was a shell! Pointy at one end, not pointy at the other! How the hell should I know what kind of shell it was?”

“It would help,” said Sanji in an infuriatingly calm voice, “if at this point you could keep a cool head and furnish some actually useful information. How big was it?”

“A couple of inches long.” Zoro wanted to punch the cook hard, but having only one good hand wasn’t likely to win him a battle right now.

“And narrower at one end than the other. Shaped like this?” Sanji let go of Zoro’s hand to bend down and swiftly drew a shape in the sand with one finger: a narrow triangle with a slightly rounded base.

Zoro blinked at the cook’s field sketch. “Uh. Yeah.”

Sanji straightened up. “You picked up a cone shell? Idiot! Don’t you know that they’re venomous?”

Zoro took a long breath. “I do _now_.”

“Baka! You’re not safe to be let out alone.” Sanji grabbed his collecting bag up from the beach and gave Zoro a shove on his left shoulder. “Move!”

“Oi – who are you shoving?” Zoro wasn’t going to take being pushed around, even with only one usable hand. “Where are you planning on going?”

“Back to the ship. Come on.” Sanji gave him an impatient look. “The quicker the better. I don’t fancy carrying your ugly carcass back if you keel over here on the beach.”

“Keel over?” Zoro didn’t like the sound of this. “Just how… venomous are we talking, with these things?”

“Depends,” answered Sanji evasively.

“Depends on what?”

“On what kind of cone shell it was you picked up. Tell me again: what did it look like?”

“I told you. Gold. And white and brown. With, kind of patterns on it.”

“ ‘Kind of patterns’?” Sanji spoke in short tones. “That’s not so much a description as a word salad. Be more specific.”

“I don’t know. Lines and triangles. Patterns.” Zoro tried to recall the image of the shell as it had lain in his palm, but the memory was overlaid with so much pain it was difficult to get hold of. “Brown and white and gold.”

“Yes, you mentioned that already. Walk faster.”

“Why?” Zoro was already finding the pace Sanji was setting increasingly challenging. “What’s the big hurry?”

“I don’t know much about cone shells. But what I do know is that when you get stung by one, about the only thing that works is putting whatever bit of you got stung into hot water. That’s supposed to break down the venom.”

“Supposed to?” Zoro didn’t find this encouraging.

“Yeah. Hot water, as hot as you can bear. And to get hot water, we need to get back to the galley on the Going Merry. And I’m assuming that you’d like this to happen sooner rather than later. That’s unless you’re enjoying this experience, you masochistic bastard.”

“Yarou…” Zoro growled this out, giving a shake of his head. “You think this is funny, you try it.”

Sanji gave the swordsman a look. Zoro was usually capable of taking a lot of punishment without complaint, but sweat was standing out on his face. “Bad?”

“Had worse.” Zoro was getting more taciturn as the pain increased. Stringing together sentences was beginning to take more concentration than he could manage.

“Right.” Sanji upped the pace a little more.

 

 

It took them longer to reach the Going Merry than Sanji had hoped. Zoro stopped complaining but got slower: by the time they got to the ship’s boat they’d left pulled up on the sand, Sanji was thinking he would have to manhandle the boat out into the shallows single-handed. But Zoro set his right shoulder to the boat’s stern, shoving it out as Sanji hauled on its prow; and although their tumbling into the boat was probably as ungraceful a launch as it had ever seen, all things considered Sanji was grateful they were afloat.

He rowed towards the Going Merry with one eye on Zoro, who sat astern head hanging down, his left arm cradled against his body. The swordsman had his eyes shut, breathing slowly in and out through close-set lips; sweat still beading his skin. Sanji had seen Zoro beaten bloody; cut with sword wounds so bad that any other person would have fallen and never got up. He knew that Zoro was able to take punishment that most fighters would fold under... So looking at the swordsman now, it was clear that the pain he was suffering from the sting in his hand was off the scale. Sanji spoke up, loudly. “Soon as we get aboard, I’ll heat up some water.”

“Mhm.” Zoro opened his eyes: gave a brief nod.

“Chopper’ll probably have something that’ll help, too.” Sanji had no clue whether this was actually the case, but it didn’t hurt to be optimistic. “Look on the bright side: if it was one of the deadly ones, you’d probably have croaked by now.”

“Hah…” Zoro grimaced. “Keep on making cracks like that… and I’ll spread some of my misery around.”

“Yeah, I’m really worried. As if I couldn’t take you even when you’ve got both hands in working order.”

“My right hand is working just fine. And punching you would feel pretty good right now.”

“Oi, who’s the one rowing you back to the ship? Show some gratitude.”

“If I hadn’t come on this idiot seafood collecting expedition of yours, I wouldn’t have got stung by that damn thing in the first place.”

“It’s not my fault you picked up a cone shell, moron. Anyone else would have had the good sense not to touch it.” Sanji actually did feel a little responsible for Zoro’s predicament, but he wasn’t going to admit that: right now it was better if Zoro stayed angry. Angry, he’d probably feel the pain less.

“Shitty cook.” Zoro frowned. “Shut up and row faster.”

 

 

Once they reached the Going Merry, Sanji glanced back to offer Zoro assistance with climbing the rope ladder back up to the deck, only to get a scowl from the swordsman. “I can manage. Go and get that damn water heated.”

Sanji left him to it, heading straight to the galley. Kindling a flame on the stove he half-filled a large saucepan with water, slamming it onto the heat. That done he returned back to the deck, to see Zoro making his way up the steps. “Water’s heating. Go and sit down in there.” Without waiting for a response he went swiftly back down to the main deck.

Usopp and Chopper were sitting in a patch of shade cast by the mainmast, having watched their crewmates’ abrupt return. Usopp looked at Sanji puzzledly. “What’s going on? You guys been fighting, or something? Zoro went past with a face like thunder.”

“He’s not in the best frame of mind.” Sanji turned to Chopper. “You got anything in your stock of medicines, that might be good for treating stings or venom? That crap swordsman picked up a cone shell, and of course the damn thing stung him.”

Chopper got up, looking alarmed. “A cone shell? That could be bad. I’ll come and take a look.”

Usopp also stood. “Yada! He picked up a cone shell? Why on earth did he do that?”

“I wouldn’t ask him that right now, if I were you.” Sanji jerked his head towards the galley. “Chopper, I’m heating some water for Zoro to put his hand in. That’s the only thing I know about treating these kinds of stings… Unless you know different?”

“Yes; that’s usually the best thing for them. Hot water.” Chopper was frowning. “I’ll come and take a look at his hand, then see if I’ve got anything in my stores that’ll help.”

When they reached the galley, Zoro was sitting at the table with an open bottle of sake in front of him. As they came to a halt beside him, he took a deep swig. Sanji eyed the bottle. “Yeah, that’ll really help. Getting smashed out of your brains.”

“Damare.” Zoro took another gulp of sake. “Believe me when I say, I _really_ need a drink.”

Chopper came up to the swordsman. “Show me your hand,” he directed. Zoro extended his left arm towards the doctor. Chopper shook his head. “Open your fingers. I can’t see anything with it closed into a fist like that.”

There was a pause. Sanji saw Zoro’s brows draw down, as if with confusion: his left hand stayed clenched. “I… can’t.” His arm shook slightly, with effort. “Shit..!”

“All right.” Chopper reached out and took hold of the swordsman’s hand, with his usual precise delicacy. Carefully he took hold of the fingers and eased them open, provoking a brief wince from Zoro. Once the hand was open, Chopper scrutinised the wound in the centre of Zoro’s palm. It was now an ugly purple-red, the flesh around it darkening too and starting to swell. Chopper frowned over the wound. “Tell me what happened.”

“I picked up this… shell thing, and it stung me on the hand. So I dropped it.” As Chopper gently turned the hand towards the light coming from the open galley doorway, Zoro let out a hard breath. “Uhhn… Why can’t I move my fingers?”

“Some of these cone shells have venom that paralyses. They use it to catch their prey: small fishes and other creatures.” Chopper gently let Zoro’s hand rest back down on the table.

“Paralyse?” Zoro turned his gaze onto his left hand, which stayed as Chopper had laid it down: a stiff, unresponsive claw. “Paralyse for how long?”

“It depends on the type of cone shell.” Chopper gave a short shake of his head. “I don’t know much about these things… But at least this one wasn’t deadly. Otherwise you wouldn’t have made it back here.”

Zoro said nothing in reply to that, but Sanji saw a muscle jump in his jaw. He knew at once what had struck home.

_Not much chance of a man with only one usable hand becoming the greatest swordsman in the world._

Chopper headed towards the door. “As soon as the water is hot, immerse your hand in a bowl of it and keep it there. The hotter the better, as hot as you can bear. That will break the venom down. I’ll get what I have to help with the pain.” He was gone even as he finished speaking.

There was a silence in the galley. Sanji checked on the water on the stove: barely warm, yet. He crossed back to the table and sat down. Zoro was regarding his left hand fixedly: his right was clenched around the neck of the sake bottle.

“Don’t think the worst.” Sanji spoke quietly. “Likely it’s only temporary.”

“And if it’s not?” Zoro’s reply was also in a low tone, but it was a dangerous quietness.

Sanji took a deep breath. “Then… we’ll figure something out. Chopper’ll figure out a way to deal with it.”

Zoro’s mouth tightened. After a few moment’s silence, he shut his eyes. “ _Fuck_.” Opening them again, he took a swig of sake. “And this stuff isn’t even touching it. My arm feels like it’s been set on fire.”

“How about your hand?”

“Can’t feel that at all any more. Just… ice, starting at my wrist.” Zoro gave a grimace. “Hot ice.”

“You can’t have hot ice.”

“I never thought so either. But I’m telling you, that’s what it feels like.” Zoro raised the sake and took another pull at the bottle. “One hell of a day this is turning out to be.”

“Right.” Sanji couldn’t think of anything else to say to that.

“Isn’t that water hot yet?”

“Getting there.” Sanji got up and checked the pan, dipping in a finger. “Another couple of minutes.”

Movement in the doorway made them both look around: Chopper had returned. Behind him in close succession were Luffy, Usopp, Nami and Robin. At once the galley became loud with a clamour of voices.

“What happened, Zoro?”

“Chopper said you’d been stung by a sea serpent!”

“He said by a _shell_ , Luffy!”

“Are you all right? What can we do?”

Zoro eyed them balefully. “Great, just what I need right now. An audience of idiots.”

“We’re your friends!” Usopp effortlessly assumed his customary dramatic stance. “We have to stand by you in your time of need!”

“Which hand is it? Is it this one?” Luffy poked at Zoro’s left hand with interest, drawing an angry yell from the swordsman. “Wow… It’s going purple.”

“Don’t touch it, idiot!” Zoro pulled his arm away from Luffy, holding it up in the air.

“You should put it in hot water,” advised Nami firmy. “Belle-mère always told me that was the best thing for these kinds of stings. Of course, you shouldn’t have touched it in the first place. Those cone shells can be really dangerous.”

“ _No - shit_.” Zoro gave her a look that would’ve scorched anyone except Nami into silence.

“Of course. Anyone who knows anything about seafaring knows that.”

Sanji saw Zoro’s right hand tighten on the bottle until the knuckles whitened. _Great. Now he’s going to smash the bottle and put his other hand out of commission too._ “Nami-san, did your belle-mère say anything else about what helped with these kinds of stings?”

Nami shrugged. “Not that I remember. Hot water, was what she told me.”

“Speaking of which.” Zoro turned to Sanji. “Isn’t that damn pan of water heated up yet?”

“I’ll check - ” Sanji turned to the stove, but as he did so he heard the chair scrape back from the table; and an instant later, Zoro pushed past him.

“Never mind. I’ll do it myself.” The swordsman stepped up to the pan. Slight wisps of steam were starting to curl up from the water. Sanji saw them and reached for the pan’s handle.

“That looks hot enough. I’ll pour it into a bowl - ”

“Forget it.” Zoro reached over the pan and without hesitation plunged his left hand into the steaming water. The assembled crew gave a collective intake of breath.

“Oi, what are you playing at! At least let me take it off the stove first!” Sanji moved again to grasp the pan’s handle. Zoro stepped sideways, blocking him. “Hey!”

“Pipe down.” Zoro spoke shortly, his hand immersed in the hot water up to the middle of his forearm. “Don’t get excited, cook. Chopper said the hotter the water, the better. Leave it be.”

Sanji scowled at him. “You’re not making soup, moron! Get out of the way and let me douse the flame under the pan!”

“No.” Zoro spoke with flat finality. “I can stand it hotter than this.”

“Urrghhh…” Usopp groaned from the doorway. “Zoro, you’re making me feel faint…”

“Then go away.” Zoro looked at him, then at his other nakama. “This isn’t a sideshow. All of you, get lost. The last thing I need right now is an audience. The only person that ought to be here is Chopper.” There was a brief outburst of protest at this, to which Zoro merely raised his voice and shouted louder. “I’m not kidding! Get the hell out of here! If I need a bunch of idiots giving me six different kinds of advice, I’ll ask for it.”

Reluctantly, most of the Straw Hats exited the galley one by one. Luffy was the last to go. Pausing on the threshold, he pointed at the stove. “That water must be getting pretty hot.”

Zoro let out a short sound. “Maybe… But I can’t feel it much.”

Luffy’s eyebrows raised. “So we’ll have swordsman soup for supper, ne?” He gave a wide grin. “Maybe I’ll come back in a while and see how it’s coming along.” With that he removed himself from the doorway.

“Crazy idiot…” Zoro gave a short shake of his head.

“Says the crazy idiot who’s cooking his own hand.” Sanji stood leaning beside the sink, still unable to get past the swordsman to kill the flame under the pan. Letting out a sigh, he reached into his pocket for his cigarettes: took one out and lit it.

Chopper, who had remained after the other crew members had left, walked slowly over to where Zoro stood at the stove. “I said, ‘as hot as you can bear’. But too hot and you will damage your hand just as badly as the venom could.”

“It’s all right.” Zoro spoke firmly, though sweat was trickling down his neck. “It’s like I said. I can barely feel it.”

“That’s even more reason to be careful. Not feeling it, you may injure yourself further.” Chopper still spoke calmly. “Is that what you want?”

There was a silence. At last Zoro answered the little doctor. “No. I don’t want that.”

“Then let Sanji remove the pan from the heat. The water’s hot enough. Any hotter and you’ll scald yourself badly.”

Zoro clenched his jaw. There was a moment’s silence… Then he shifted sideways a little, just enough to allow access to the stove. Sanji immediately stepped over and doused the flame, reaching for the pan’s handle. “Move. I’ll bring it over to the table.”

“Lift it. I’ll keep my hand in the water.”

“Idiot swordsman…” Sanji picked up the pan, taking it off the stove. Together, the two men moved to the table, where Sanji set the pan down. Zoro sat heavily, keeping his hand in the steaming water. For a few minutes, the three held silence. At last Chopper said, “Take it out a moment and let me see.”

“I can keep it in longer.”

“Just for a moment.” Chopper spoke firmly.

Zoro’s mouth tightened stubbornly. “I said, I can stand it.”

Sanji regarded the swordsman’s hand. The skin had gone an angry red where the water covered it. “Take your hand out of the water, fucking marimo. Or I’ll take it out for you.”

“Try it.”

“Aho…” Sanji narrowed his eyes. “Chopper knows what he’s doing. Take your hand out. _Right now_.”

There was a moment’s more angry silence… Then Zoro slowly removed his hand from the water, holding it out towards Chopper. “Here.”

Chopper scrutinised the wound carefully, before giving a nod. “Okay. You can put it back in.” Zoro immediately returned his hand into the water. “How does it feel?”

“Like I’ve got my arm stuck in a pan of hot water.” Zoro breathed out hard.

“Can you move your fingers at all?”

Zoro scowled with effort: in the water, a couple of his fingers twitched. “Nghh…”

“Good. It looks like it’s working.” Chopper reached for a small bottle he’d set on the table. “Sanji, get a cup of water.”

“Hot water?”

“No, cold.” Chopper uncorked the bottle: when Sanji put a cup of water on the table, Chopper tipped a few drops of dark brown liquid from the bottle into the cup, then pushed it across the table to Zoro. “Drink this down.”

Zoro eyed it. “What is it?”

“Something that’ll help with the pain.”

Zoro picked the cup up immediately and knocked its contents back, setting the empty cup back on the table. Pulling a face he muttered, “Tastes like shit.”

“Stop complaining.” Sanji sat opposite with arms folded.

“Drop dead.” Zoro propped his forehead against his good hand, leaning one elbow on the table. “Hahh…”

“It’ll take a little while to work,” said Chopper. “Meanwhile, if you keep your hand in the hot water, that’ll help.”

For some time they sat in silence around the table. Sanji watched the swordsman, finishing his cigarette. Zoro had shut his eyes, but gradually the tense lines around his eyes and mouth eased a little. At last Chopper spoke again. “That should be long enough. Take your hand out.” Zoro did so: holding his hand in front of him, he appeared to concentrate. The fingers twitched, then curled inwards a little. He let out a breath.

“You can move it.” Sanji was surprised by the relief that he felt.

“Not much… But it’s getting easier.” Zoro frowned with effort and his fingers curled a little more: his hand shook. “Ughh.”

“It should gradually come back to normal.” Chopper took another careful look at the wound. “I’ve got some salve here that will help, too.”

“Whatever.” Zoro laid his hand palm upwards on the table. “Put it on.”

It took a while for Chopper to apply the salve, after which he bound up Zoro’s hand in a tightly-wound bandage. Zoro made no complaint at the doctoring, although once or twice his shoulders tensed. When it was done Chopper gathered up his medical kit. “That’s the most we can do. You just need to give it time now, for the venom to work its way out of your system. How do you feel?”

“Better.” Zoro was turning his bandaged left hand one way and another, examining it as he flexed his fingers. His gaze lifted to the little doctor. “At least… I can feel it now. My hand. The damn thing feels like I slammed it in a door, but at least I can feel it.”

Sanji regarded him. Zoro’s face was still beaded with sweat; the swordsman’s colour was pretty bad. “You look like crap.”

“Yeah well… It’s been that kind of a day.” Zoro shut his eyes briefly, swallowing. When he opened them again, he blinked. “Uh… I need some air…” He got up so swiftly that his chair almost fell over backwards, before he moved rapidly towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Sanji frowned.

“Out… Just…” Then Zoro was gone through the open doorway. Sanji and Chopper exchanged a look. There was brief pause… before the unmistakeable sound of someone violently throwing up reached their ears.

“Ah.” Sanji grimaced. “Let’s hope he made it to the rail.”

Further unappealing sounds continued. Sanji considered going to Zoro’s aid… then thought better of it. Vomit was definitely not his thing. And it was unlikely that he could do anything apart from spectate, which was not an attractive prospect. “You think he’ll be all right?”

“Yes. It’s just the venom passing through his system.” Chopper headed for the doorway himself. “Once he’s stopped vomiting, he should drink plenty of water. And no more sake.”

“I’ll let you tell him that.” Sanji picked up the now cooling pan of water from the table and took it to the sink, tipping it down the drain.

 

 

 

Six of the crew ate supper that evening, out on the main deck where a cool breeze chased away the heat of the day. The general opinion was that Sanji’s paella was a triumph: a vote of confidence that was pleasing. He’d spent a long time on preparing the dish, immersing himself in balancing flavours and cooking each of the ingredients perfectly. It had been a welcome distraction from listening to the intermittent sounds of Zoro still suffering the after-effects of the cone shell venom. It wasn’t that Sanji was unfeeling: rather, that creating good food was a demanding business that wasn’t much assisted by the mental picture of someone puking their guts up barely five yards away. After a while Sanji had shut the galley porthole and bent his attention on the food. He had made a gesture of support, soon after Zoro’s sudden exit from the galley: taking out a jug of cool water and a mug. But Zoro had barely acknowledged him, merely letting out a grunt as he stayed leaning with his head resting on his folded arms on the stern rail. So Sanji had left him to it.

Anyway, he was a cook, not a doctor. That was Chopper’s department. And directing his attention to his cooking had worked. He’d produced a new dish he was pretty happy with, and his nakama were really enjoying it. Everyone was now well fed, and that was how it should be. Well, nearly everyone.

Luffy nudged him in the ribs. “Is there more?”

“Of course.” Sanji got up and fetched the paella pan over. “Ladies first…” He gave Nami and Robin one of his most melting smiles. “A little more?”

“Just a spoonful,” replied Nami, holding out her plate. Beside her Robin shook her head.

“Not for me. It was delicious, but I can’t eat another thing.”

“I can!” Luffy was edging into Sanji’s field of vision. “I can eat lots more! Look, my plate’s empty!”

“All right, dumbass,” Sanji growled, having elegantly served Nami’s portion. “There’s enough for everyone to have seconds, I made plenty. Stop stalking me or I’m not serving you another thing.”

Luffy pouted, which made Sanji deliberately leave him till last as he dished up to the crew. As soon as his plate was refilled Luffy fell upon it in his usual ravening manner, making appreciative noises. Sanji would have been more flattered by his captain’s enthusiasm if he hadn’t known that for Luffy, food was about quantity rather than quality.

Usopp belched, then put up a hand to his mouth. “Oops. ‘Scuse me. That really was good, Sanji. I didn’t even recognise some of the seafood you put in it, but it all tasted great. Looked good, too.”

The corner of Sanji’s mouth lifted as he sparked up his customary post-meal cigarette. “Thank you. I was inspired by some of the things I found around the shore. Even though it’s only a small island, there’s an amazing variety of marine life here.”

“Speaking of marine life… How’s our shell collector?” Robin lifted an enquiring eyebrow. “Still feeding the fishes?”

“I think he stopped puking a while ago,” answered Nami, her enjoyment of the end of her meal apparently in no way diminished by the topic. “Either that or he leaned out so far he fell over the stern.”

Robin grinned. “We’d have heard the splash.” They laughed, joined by Usopp and Luffy.

Chopper looked at his crewmates somewhat disapprovingly. “That’s a little unkind. It can’t have been much fun, suffering what he did.”

“O, lighten up, Chopper.” Nami grinned at him. “You know how Zoro is about injuries. He doesn’t let getting hurt slow him down for long. It’s just funny, that what did for him was a tiny little cone shell.”

“We should buy an empty cone shell at the next island we come to, if they have a market there.” Robin’s eyes narrowed mischievously. “We could give him it as a present, to remind him not to pick one up again.”

Nami’s face lit up. “Or we could drop it down inside his shirt, and have fun watching him try to get it out before he thinks it’s going to sting him.”

Sanji snorted. “Good luck with that. If you do it I will be stricken with grief but unsurprised when he beats you to death with whatever blunt instrument comes to hand.”

Nami laughed. “He wouldn’t dare.”

Sanji blew out a stream of smoke, knowing that she was probably right. Both women were strong and more than capable of dishing out trouble, but rarely got a taste of their own medicine. Largely because all the male crew members were bound by the convention that hitting women was, well, not acceptable. No matter if they had hit you first, even in that vulnerable place that left you gasping on the deck clutching your kintama and waiting for the sensation to diminish from utter agony to just extreme pain.

“Is there any more food?” Luffy, ever single-minded, looked hopefully at the paella pan where it lay on the deck.

“No.” Sanji got up, collecting the pan as he did so. “It’s all been eaten.”

“Ahh…” Luffy looked bereaved, as he often did at the end of mealtimes. “It was so good. I could eat it all over again.”

“As it was a success, I may cook it again another day.” Sanji gave him a smile round his cigarette. “But for now: bring your empty dishes up to the galley, when you’re done.”

 

 

 

The galley had hung on to the heat of the day, combined with the heat of cooking: it felt muggy in there. Sanji propped the door ajar and opened the portholes, letting the evening breeze travel through. Once the crew had delivered their supper dishes he set about washing up and clearing away, taking his time. The paella pan needed soaking overnight before cleaning, so he left it almost filled with water in the sink. That done he lit another cigarette, boiled a kettle of water and made himself a coffee. The rest of the hot water he poured into a teapot which had a tea infuser filled with a mixture of herbs and spices he’d prepared earlier. He let it steep for a little while, filling a dish with rice crackers from a stash he kept where Luffy wouldn’t find them, in a tin buried inside a sack of flour. That done he picked up the teapot, an empty mug, the dish of crackers and his own coffee, before strolling out of the door and around to the stern of the ship.

It was late enough in the evening now that the sun had dropped below the horizon. There was still plenty enough light to see the figure sitting cross-legged on the deck by the stern rail, leaning back against it. Sanji advanced light-footed, in case Zoro was sleeping. But as he drew close the swordsman stirred, lifting his head and opening his eyes to look up at him. Sanji stopped by the rail; let himself sit down on the deck. “Here.” He set the teapot and mug beside the swordsman. “Ginger, mint and fennel tea. Drink it while it’s hot.”

Zoro frowned at the pot. “I don’t want anything. Least of all some – weird herbal brew.”

Sanji sighed. “It’ll settle your stomach, moron. It’s good for nausea. I’ve used it for all sorts: sea sickness, ‘flu, morning sickness - ”

“I’m not a pregnant woman.”

“That hadn’t escaped my notice. But nonetheless, it will help.” As Zoro continued to regard the teapot with suspicion, Sanji grew irritated. “What are you, a toddler? Do I need to fetch some honey to sweeten your medicine?”

“Shitty cook.” But Zoro reached out and picked up the teapot: poured out a mugful. Picking it up and taking a wary sip, he pulled a face. “Oi… That tastes even weirder than it smells.”

“Man up.” Sanji took a sip of his coffee.

With evident reluctance, Zoro took another swallow of the spice tea. “What’s in the dish?”

“Rice crackers.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Not now, sure. But once that tea settles your stomach, you ought to put something into it.”

“Are you a nurse now? I told you, I don’t want anything to eat. I’ve just spent the last few hours turning inside out over that rail. Food is not something I even want to think about.”

“You’ve stopped throwing up. So the best thing is to eat, just something small and simple. Otherwise you won’t be able to sleep.”

“I don’t need anything to eat. What I need is a drink.”

“No. Chopper said, no alcohol till tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Fucking pain-in-the-ass reindeer. What does he know?”

“More than you, pain-in-the-ass swordsman. Drink your tea.”

Zoro subsided into moody silence… But took another sip from the faintly steaming mug. After a while, Sanji said quietly, “Anyway… When someone brings you a peace offering, the polite thing to do is accept it gracefully.”

Zoro looked at him. “Peace offering?”

“Mm.” Sanji breathed out a mouthful of smoke.

“What are you talking about?”

“What you said, when I was rowing us back to the ship. About it being my fault you got stung, because I asked you to come out collecting seafood with me.” Sanji shrugged. “You weren’t entirely talking crap. For once.” He gave Zoro a quick look. “Not that I’m saying it was all my responsibility. If I’d known you were going to grab every unsuitable thing you could lay hands on, I wouldn’t have asked you to come along in the first place. But…” He took a deep breath; sighed. “I suppose I should have warned you. About what kinds of things not to pick up.”

There was a longish silence. At last Zoro took another swallow of tea, before saying in level tones, “That would have been… helpful.”

“Or you could have asked me, before you went stomping off in a flurry of spray.” Sanji felt a little needled, that his almost-apology didn’t seem to be getting the respect he felt it deserved.

“You told me to go on ahead. Amongst other things.”

“Yes.” Sanji gritted his teeth. “I did. But I didn’t tell you to find the most venomous thing you could and poke it till it stung you.”

“I only picked the fucking thing up because I thought you’d like to see it!” That burst out of Zoro unexpectedly and left a crowded little silence between them.

After a few seconds, Sanji asked carefully, “What?”

“The shell. Cone shell, whatever the hell it was. It was covered in patterns – like someone had decorated it. I thought that maybe you’d have liked to see it.” Zoro’s voice had dropped into a mutter now.

“Oh.” Sanji thought for a moment, trying to work out what it was Zoro was trying so hard not to actually come out and say. _He was bringing the damn thing back for me, as a present? Because it was pretty to look at?_   That was so bizarre a notion to imagine Zoro having, that Sanji almost couldn’t believe it. Except that, on some level, it was precisely what Zoro would do. See something he liked and take it, regardless of consequences. Although in this case it appeared that for once his motivation hadn’t been about self-gratification... but about pleasing Sanji. And _that_ was a radical enough gear change that Sanji was simultaneously surprised and gratified. “Well… Thanks for the thought. But next time, take me to whatever it is you find, rather than the other way round.”

“There’s not going to be a next time.” Zoro rallied with his customary flare of temper. “If you need company on a seaside hunt in future, take someone else with you.”

 _Well, so much for savouring a moment of tenderness._ Sanji felt an answering flare of irritation kindling in himself, at how quickly Zoro seemed to be able to cover up even the slightest show of what might be perceived as affection. Not to mention, how the swordsman appeared to be unappreciative of the fact that Sanji had at least tried to make an apology for the whole unfortunate incident. “With pleasure.” He stood up. “By the way, I made the seafood we collected into an excellent paella. Everyone enjoyed it.” Zoro looked up at him, frowning. “So there’s none left. Enjoy your rice crackers.” With that Sanji strode away, leaving a blue curl of cigarette smoke ghosting into nothingness in the evening air.

 

 

After Sanji had gone, Zoro remained sitting by the stern rail for some time. He finished the spice tea, twisting his mouth at the taste of it. He wasn’t a fan of herbal brews. He’d been dosed with too many vile herbal medicines as a child - before he’d got old enough to conceal any signs of infirmity - to tolerate them well now. Although he had to admit, that annoying cook had been right. The tea did improve the state of his guts. Improved them well enough that not long after finishing it, he surprised himself by slowly munching his way through the dish of rice crackers that Sanji had left behind.

It was just Sanji’s way, he knew: no-one aboard this ship would ever have to go hungry. Sanji would feed his worst enemy if he was starving, just as well as he would feed his nakama. So the cook bringing him tea and rice crackers was just a reflex. It wasn’t some grand gesture of anything significant.

Zoro frowned at the empty dish. He was used to looking after himself when ill or injured. Letting someone else look after you was being weak, and that was something he was determined not to be. Yet the cook would never take no for an answer. Even when you made it clear in a physically direct manner. And tonight, weary after spending a large part of the day hung over the stern rail retching till he’d thought he was going to start seeing his internal organs appearing, Zoro had had no energy to put up more than a token resistance.

Then there was that weird moment when it seemed almost like Sanji had been… apologising. That had been even more surprising than the offering of herbal tea and rice crackers. Sanji didn’t do apologising. Not to Zoro, certainly. Arguing; bitching and moaning; fighting; all of the above. And there was a certain familiar comfort to all of these. Zoro knew where he was when they were locked in verbal or physical sparring. It was well-known territory. But a Sanji who solicitously brought healing tea and snacks, as if Zoro was Nami or Robin; who admitted to actually having done something wrong… that was unsettling.

It was too much on top of a trying day: Zoro decided to stop thinking about it. After all, Sanji had parted with a waspish comment, which was definitely more in character. And frankly, the day had been complicated enough without pondering the randomness of the cook’s moods. Picking up the empty teapot, mug and dish he stood up and walked slowly round to the galley. It was dark and quiet inside, for which he was thankful. He left the crockery in the sink and headed out and down to the maindeck, then down through the hatch to the men’s sleeping quarters. A chorus of snores met him in the darkness. Picking his way carefully through the gloom he kicked off his boots, climbed into his hammock and stretched out, letting go of a long sigh. 

His left arm lay across his body, his hand resting on his stomach. Over the last few hours the feeling had continued to return to his hand and fingers: now he could feel them distinctly, an unpleasant prickling and tingling as if he’d lain awkwardly on the limb and it was coming back to life with a rush of pins and needles. Although usually the stinging of pins and needles only lasted a couple of minutes before subsiding: this sensation persisted, waxing and waning in intensity but never going away. His arm felt wrong too… A toothache-like nagging pain ran up and down it as if he’d jarred it badly. He flexed his fingers experimentally, trying to tighten them into a fist: they moved but the burning and tingling spiked, making him clench his jaw.

He forced himself to relax. He should be able to deal with this. Whenever he got injured there was always a period of time he had to endure, when he wasn’t able to get his body to do what he wanted. It always made him feel the same way: frustrated with his own physical limitations. Impatient with anyone who tried to get him to ease up until he recovered. As soon as he was able, he wanted to be up and training, working, fighting. That was the only way to bury the memory of whatever had got through his guard… this time. The only way to make sure that next time he would be faster, stronger, more skilled.

The burning and tingling in his hand and arm was unpleasant, but it was more welcome than the chill numbness that had been creeping up it before he’d plunged his hand into the pan of hot water. Pain was a known thing, something he could handle. And most likely he’d wake tomorrow and the pain would be gone, or at least lessened to the point where he could ignore it. The nausea had already gone, perhaps helped by Sanji’s herbal brew. He still felt less than great: a headache sat in his skull like a stone, and sweat was making his shirt cling to his back. But doubtless that would pass too, by morning. Meantime the only thing that was likely to help was sleep. And he could already feel himself sliding down into it. Shifting slightly in his hammock, he took a deep breath in: let it out. Felt the darkness drift in.


	3. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoro doesn't let recovering from his recent injury get in the way of training.

_When you woke up this morning  
_ _The world turned upside down  
_ _Lord above, things ain’t been the same  
_ _Since the blues walked into town_

-       _Alabama 3_

 

\-----

_It was morning and Zoro was standing on the stern deck, looking out to sea. The water was moving in a slow swell, blue curves rolling and lifting the ship up and down as if the ocean was a breathing animal._

_He breathed in the cool morning air, savouring its freshness. Readied himself to train: focused his mind. Then reached round and laid his left hand on the hilt of Wado Ichimonji. Moved to draw the katana from its sheath._

_His fingers slid from the sword, coming up empty. He looked at them for a moment, frowning: then reached down again to the hilt. He felt his fingers touch the sword, brushing against it lightly… but no more. His hand was not gripping it. As if he had no strength._

_He looked down at his hand and it was shaking, trembling as he poured his will into it. He bent every effort of determination into clenching his fingers around the hilt, drawing the sword._

_His fingers slipped uselessly from Wado Ichimonji a second time, his hand wavering up into the air empty. Zoro stared at it… Then turned it over so that he was able to see the palm._

_A black stain was spreading there, under the skin, from the wound in its centre. As he watched the blackness bloomed, creeping towards his fingers and wrist: and as it spread the skin began to blister, the flesh to swell, as if it was rotting before his eyes. A corruption of decay consuming his hand, that would spread up his arm and take it before it took all of him._

_Now he could smell a sickish sweet smell of putrefaction too, filling him with dread so that he reached for Wado Ichimonji right-handed and drew the sword, raising it high before bringing its blade down swiftly to sever his left hand at the wrist, feeling bones splinter and tendons sever as the razor-sharp metal cleaved through –_

“Hhnn!” Zoro jolted upright in his hammock. The movement almost sent him swinging over its edge: for a moment he swayed in mid-air, before managing to come to a standstill.

“Interesting waking-up technique.” Sanji’s voice came from nearby. Zoro blinked, to find the cook standing a few yards away, buttoning up his shirt. “From horizontal to vertical in less than half a second. Worried you were going to miss breakfast?”

“Mhh…” Zoro gave his head a half-shake, then frowned. “It’s morning?”

“Yes. The clue was in the words ‘waking up’ and ‘breakfast’.” Sanji picked up his jacket and shrugged it on. “The latter of which will be occurring in precisely twenty minutes. So if your appetite has recovered, don’t be long coming up on deck.” With that he headed up the ladder and exited through the hatch.

Zoro swung his legs down and stood for a moment by his hammock, still frowning. The texture of his dream still filled his mind like grey fog, making the morning seem a little unreal. His gaze fell to his left hand, which he lifted to look at, palm uppermost. Chopper’s neat bandage was still fastened securely around it, covering the wound. Zoro suddenly felt a need to see beneath it. He turned his hand over to get at the knot, tugging at it impatiently until it gave way and he was able to unwind the strip of cloth. As the last loop fell away he half-expected to see the ugly black discolouration of his dream… But instead, what met his gaze was just the small wound in the centre of his palm. The flesh around it was still slightly red and swollen, but other than that it seemed to be healing.

Zoro tried clenching his fingers: they moved easily enough, curling closed over the palm. He tightened them into a fist, increasing the pressure until he felt his fingernails digging into the skin. Releasing his grip he opened the hand again, looked at it. The skin was marked with faint crescents where his fingernails had pressed in. As he watched, they faded.

_Just a dream._

He let out a short breath. Then moved to the ladder and climbed up, opening the hatch and heading into the daylight.

 

 

 

The day passed slowly on board the Going Merry, each crew member being occupied with their own concerns. Sanji spent several hours in a leisurely bout of galley cleaning, inventory of his food stores and menu planning, interspersed with providing lunch for his nakama. As evening drew on he prepared and set simmering a spicy fish curry, before heading out on deck for a smoke. Nami was out there, but appeared to have finished work for the day too: her chart was rolled up and tied neatly with a ribbon, while Nami lay back on the deck with her head pillowed comfortably on one arm, smiling up at the cloudless blue sky.

Sanji came to stand close beside her, beaming down at his shipmate. “You look like an angel fallen down from heaven, Nami-swan.”

“And you look like a smoking devil risen up from hell.” Nami’s smile persisted, somewhat softening this assessment of his character.

“For you, I’ll be whatever you want.”

“All I want you to be is a cook. Is that supper I can smell?”

“A work in progress… But it won’t be long before it’s ready.”

Nami let out a happy sigh. “Great. I’m starving.” She effortlessly sat up and stretched. “Oi… My back’s killing me, after working on that chart all day. But it’s all up to date now. Just in time, too.”

Sanji raised an enquiring eyebrow. “In time for what?”

“The log pose has done its stuff.” Nami gestured to the little crystal bubble on her wrist. “Tomorrow, we can move on.”

“Oh.” Sanji nodded. “Well, I suppose it’s good to get underway again. Although as islands go… this one wasn’t so bad.”

“Mhm.” Nami shrugged. “Too quiet for me. I like somewhere with people. And shops.”

Sanji grinned. “Ahh, my little queen of commerce. My wish then is for our next island to be one with exotic markets and fine boutiques, their shelves groaning under the weight of clothes elegant enough to grace your peerless form.”

“This coming from the man who fusses more about what shirt he wears than I take in choosing an entire outfit.” Nami grinned back at him and got to her feet. “Go and stir your food, Sanji-kun. It’s the only thing you’ll make simmer around here.”

 

 

 

As Sanji had predicted, supper was not long in being ready to dish up. He summoned the crew with a yell from the doorway, knowing that Luffy had been waiting with his eye on the galley doorway for the last hour and that the others wouldn’t be far behind him. Once his nakama were around the table he spooned out steaming mounds of rice topped with the meltingly tender spicy fish, and soon the room was filled with the usual sounds of busy eating and table conversation. Sanji however paused with his fork held above his supper, looking at the table: one plate of food sat untouched at the table’s edge. He frowned. “Where’s that damn swordsman? His food’s getting cold.”

“Ftill twainin'.” Luffy spoke indistinctly round a mouthful of curry.

Sanji scowled. “He’s _still_ swinging weights around? That idiot didn’t show up for lunch, either. I had to take his out to him.” And he’d received nothing in return except a grunt as thanks.

Luffy swallowed a mouthful so large it made his eyes bulge, before he spoke again. “If he doesn’t want his supper, I could eat it.”

“Stick to your own supper.” Sanji began eating his own food, his mood soured by Zoro’s failure to honour the supper table ritual. Mealtimes were sacred things, in Sanji’s opinion. When meals were set on the table, you stopped whatever you were doing to congregate with your nakama and appreciate the food. Especially the evening meal. It was the time when they checked in with each other; found out how the day had gone; planned and speculated on what tomorrow might bring. For Zoro to ignore that customary daily gathering was bad manners. No, more than that: it was disrespectful, of his nakama. _And_ of Sanji’s cooking.

Sanji ate his supper, listening to the conversations of his fellow Straw Hats with only half of his usual enjoyment. On one side of the table, Zoro’s unclaimed plate of food slowly cooled: after a while, Sanji got up and fetched another dish to cover it over, mindful of Luffy’s eye often straying to it.

 

 

At last supper came to an end. Sanji excused himself from the table and headed for the door, picking up the covered dish of food as he went. He made his way to the stern deck, carefully formulating appropriately disapproving comments to be delivered along with the food.

Zoro was still working out, lifting weights with his arms extended to either side, facing out to sea. His movements were slow and deliberate: the control evident in the set of his shoulders, the firm stance of his bare feet on the deck. Sanji watched him for half a minute or so, leaning against the cabin. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the view. As a man who appreciated the aesthetic side of life he liked things that looked good, whether that was food, women… or in this case, his lover. And whatever Zoro’s flaws – and there surely were plenty of them – Sanji would be the first to admit that the swordsman was easy on the eye. Despite that head of mossy green hair, and the too-often present frown. Right now, with the light of the evening sun casting a warming glow over everything, and Zoro’s shirt sticking to his body with what was undoubtedly a film of sweat (Sanji’s sensitive cook’s nose could smell _that_ much), it was a view that went some way to sweetening Sanji’s mood.

As he watched, Zoro stopped moving the weights: stayed perfectly still with them held at shoulder height for a long pause. Then at last he let out a breath, before finally lowering the weights and placing them on the deck. Reaching forward he picked up a cloth and straightened up, wiping it over his face and neck. As he lowered it again he said without turning round, “You plan on standing there watching all night?”

Sanji pushed himself upright from the cabin and stepped forward. “If my life was that empty I’d throw myself overboard.”

“So why the voyeurism?” Zoro turned to give him a sidelong glance. “It’s creepy, being watched like that.”

Sanji snorted. “As if. You’re the biggest poser I know.”

“You calling me a poser? That’s rich. I’ve known girls that take less time getting dressed than you do.”

“I wouldn’t expect a sweat-fixated muscle Buddha such as yourself to appreciate the finer things in life, like sartorial elegance. What I do expect, however, is that when I cook a meal for everyone aboard, everyone aboard turns up to eat it.”

“I was busy.” Zoro shrugged. “I lost track of time.”

“Bullshit. I yelled yūshoku-ji and everyone else heard it, including Chopper and Robin who were below deck. You just chose not to join us.”

“Stop getting your panties in a bunch, shitty cook. What’s it to you if I miss a meal?”

“Firstly, you didn’t miss a meal.” Sanji set the covered plate and a spoon carefully down on the deck, resisting the urge to smash it over Zoro’s head. “I saved your share. Which, as you know, is no mean feat with someone like Luffy on board. Secondly, it’s plain bad manners not to turn up and sit down with your nakama at suppertime. You’ve been heaving those damn weights around all day: would it have killed you to knock off an hour earlier and join the human race along with the rest of us?”

Zoro looked down at the covered plate. “I wanted to finish properly. And now I have.” He bent down and picked the plate up, lifted off the second plate covering it. “Hm… Smells good.”

“It’s cold now.” Sanji wasn’t going to be brought round by compliments to his cooking.

“I don’t mind.” Sitting down on the deck, Zoro picked up the spoon and took a mouthful of his supper. “Tastes all right, warm or not.”

After a longish pause, Sanji also sat down. “You are such an asshole.”

“Because I didn’t show up for supper?” Zoro continued eating, evidently enjoying the food. “I told you why that was.”

“Yeah, you did. And I’m telling you, that’s not a good enough reason. Don’t do it again.” Sanji reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette: lit it. “You started training first thing this morning, right after breakfast. You haven’t let up all day. That kind of crap gets on my nerves.”

Zoro looked at him. “How long I train for is nobody’s business except mine.”

“Yeah, except that for most of yesterday you were sick as a dog. So maybe working out today for ten hours in this heat isn’t the brightest notion.” Sanji moodily exhaled smoke. “Although, I should’ve expected this. You always do this when you’ve had an injury or a knock-back. Train like a crazy fucker, when you ought to give yourself some recovery time.”

Zoro spooned up a little more of his supper. “I feel fine today.”

“Right.” Sanji remembered the look on Zoro’s face the day before, when Chopper had spoken about the paralysing effects of the venom. “And your hand – that’s fine, too?”

“It’s all right.” Zoro’s reply was clipped.

 _Aha._ Sanji thought he maybe had an inkling of what might have kept the swordsman training long into the evening. “Then let’s see it.”

There was a moment’s pause – then Zoro laid his spoon down with exaggerated care, before extending his left hand palm up towards his crewmate. “Knock yourself out.”

Sanji took hold of Zoro’s hand and turned it toward the evening light. The little wound in the centre of the palm was an angry red colour, the skin around it slightly swollen. “How come you took Chopper’s bandage off?”

“It was getting in the way.” Zoro closed his hand into a fist, drawing it back. “See? Back in full working order.” He picked up his spoon again and resumed his meal.

Sanji watched him, drawing on his cigarette. After a moment, he said, “Fine. But tomorrow: show up for meals. Or I’ll let Luffy have yours.”

Zoro swallowed a mouthful of food. “Okay. Quit nagging.”

Sanji narrowed his eyes. “That wasn’t nagging. That was a simple prediction of what will happen if you continue acting like an idiot.” He got to his feet. “Don’t forget to bring the plate back to the galley when you’re done.” With that, he walked away.

 

 

Zoro continued to eat until the dish was empty, when he set it on the deck. Settling his shoulders back against the rail, he lifted his gaze to the porthole in the side of the galley. Lamplight glowed there: the porthole was slightly ajar, and faint clinks drifted out. Sanji was evidently washing up.

Zoro had been untruthful when he’d told the cook that he’d lost track of when supper was. He’d heard Sanji call it; and soon after, he’d heard his nakama in the galley, talking and laughing through the evening meal. But something had stopped him from joining them. Finishing his weight training, sure: that was the excuse he’d given Sanji. But it was more than that. He’d felt out of sorts, edgy in a way that meant he didn’t want to be around anyone. Even his nakama.

_\- You always do this when you’ve had an injury or a knock-back. Train like a crazy fucker, when you ought to give yourself some recovery time._

Zoro looked at his left hand, clenching it slowly into a fist. After a day’s training, it was almost back to normal. His fingers still felt a little stiff; and the little wound in the centre of his palm was sore to the touch; but nothing serious. Compared to what it might have been. A frown drew his brows down.

_\- Some of these cone shells have venom that paralyses._

He’d felt Chopper’s words yesterday like a kick in the pit of his stomach. And even as he’d resisted letting the words in, he’d looked at his left hand lying unmoving on the table as if it belonged to someone else and felt the possibility of his life’s purpose falling into ruins.

He found himself clenching his fist now so hard it ached. At once he released it: took a steadying breath.

He got to his feet, picking up his empty plate; headed to the galley. Stepping inside, he saw Sanji wiping down the table, laying out cutlery for tomorrow's breakfast. Zoro moved to the sink and slid his dish into the bowl of warm soapy water there; began to wash it clean.

“You can just leave it.” Sanji spoke from where he was still setting the table.

Zoro made no answer, but continued to wash his dish and spoon, before propping them on the drainer and reaching for the dish towel. Deliberately he dried both, before returning them to the shelves where they belonged. Finally he turned and gave the cook a nod. “Thanks for saving my supper. It was good.”

Sanji regarded him levelly, leaning against the table. “It would’ve tasted better eaten while it was still warm.”

Zoro gave a slight shrug, before turning and leaving the galley. Sanji watched him go, one corner of his mouth pulling into a wry expression. _Damn marimo._


	4. Just One Of Those Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Going Merry gets under way again, the Mugiwara enjoy the delights of pancakes, laundry, sunsets and star-gazing. All except for a certain swordsman, who is nobody’s ray of sunshine.

_I'm cranky for some reason,_ _maybe I'm crazy_  
 _A phase I suppose: it’s just one of those days, it comes and it goes_  
 _So leave me alone, I’m a little low on patience  
_ _Don’t ask questions, I’m not open to suggestions_

-       _Buck 65_ _  
_

\-----

 

With the log pose set, there was no reason to linger at the sunny little island any longer: soon after the sun was up the next morning, so were most of the Straw Hats, ready to set about the task of getting the Going Merry under way again.

Sanji was up even earlier than most of the rest of the crew - although not, he noticed with a vague sense of irritation, before Zoro: the swordsman’s hammock was empty when the cook swung his own feet out onto the deck and began getting dressed.

_Probably up saluting the sun, or whatever other bushido bullshit he’s immersing himself in today._

Sanji had no illusions that despite what he’d said to Zoro the night before, his advice would fail to penetrate the swordsman’s skull. In fact he had a strong suspicion that if anything, Zoro would train harder simply because it was Sanji who’d suggested he should take things easy.

_Well, who the fuck cares. It’s his business, like he said._

Sanji slipped on his shoes and climbed up the ladder to the main deck, before heading to the galley to start breakfast. Pancakes with sliced bananas, honey and flaked toasted almonds; plus an extra-large pot of coffee for the early-risers. As his nakama drifted in and sat around the table Sanji kept spooning batter into the pan and piling the finished pancakes on warmed plates, passing them over to the table. He knew from experience that as long as he kept them coming, they’d get eaten. Luffy was good for a couple of dozen, while the rest of the crew would polish off whatever their captain didn’t manage to stuff into his ravening maw.

“Mhmm… Just what I was hoping would be for breakfast.” Nami neatly speared a rolled-up slice of pancake dripping with honey on her fork and slid it into her mouth. “You must have read my mind.”

“I can make you anything to sweeten the start of your day, Nami-swan. All you have to do is say the word.”

Nami gave him a sidelong smile, before running her forefinger around her plate to wipe up the honey that had dripped there. Deliberately she placed her forefinger in her mouth… before slowly sucking the honey off. Her eyes flicked wickedly up to where Sanji stood watching her, batter dripping from his spoon onto the floor. “Thank you, Sanji-kun.”

A sniggering from several of his male crewmates brought Sanji back down to earth. He blinked, feeling the air in the galley a little warmer than it ought to be, before frowning at Luffy and Usopp who were now fairly spluttering over their breakfast. Beside them Zoro gave a slight snort. Sanji narrowed his eyes. “And just what the hell are you crap idiots finding so funny?”

“Watching you drool on the pancakes,” answered Zoro, through a half-full mouth. Usopp snickered, nudging Luffy who was also grinning widely.

“Really.” Sanji raised an eyebrow elegantly. “Then I guess you guys won’t be wanting any more of them.”

Alarm registered on Luffy’s face. “I do!”

“Then mind your manners.” Sanji turned back to the stove. “I hear one more snigger from any of you three, you can get the hell out of my kitchen and come back when you’ve learned some table manners.”

The silence behind him was immediate and gratifying. Sanji allowed himself a small smile of triumph, before spooning more batter into the frying pan.

 

 

 

Once breakfast was over, all hands set to with making way. Soon the Going Merry was slipping through the water, sails swelling and the sea starting to curl around her bows as she gathered speed. Sails set and anchor stowed, the ship fell into its familiar pattern of life under way: some crew taking their turns on watch; others whiling away their free hours on deck, fishing over the side or catching up on personal chores.

Breakfast cleared away, Sanji headed below to round up his laundry. Washing dirty clothes was a task he liked to get done as soon as there was sunshine and a sailing wind, so that his laundry would dry as quickly as possible. He spent a meditative hour scrubbing and rinsing shirts, trousers and assorted underwear, before bringing the basket of damp but clean clothing up to the stern deck to hang out to dry.

Predictably, Zoro was there already, training once again. Sanji made no comment, stepping round the swordsman to peg put his clothes carefully along a rope. Once his basket was empty he fished out his cigarettes and lit up, standing looking out to the sea in their wake.

Behind him came the clink of weights placed on deck. After a pause, Zoro appeared beside him, coming to stand also looking out to sea. Sanji drew on his cigarette; blew smoke out in a long trail that drifted away and dispersed over the blue waves, fading to nothingness. “Well… Nice island. Let’s hope the next one is good too.”

“As long as it doesn’t have stinging sea shells, it’ll be fine by me.”

Sanji smiled around his cigarette. “On the scale of things we’ve run into since we entered the Grand Line, a stinging sea shell isn’t so bad.”

“All right for you to say, shitty cook. You didn’t get stung.”

“The great demon swordsman, Roronoa Zoro… versus the tiny little cone shell.” Sanji grinned. “Not exactly an epic battle.”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

Zoro gave him a sideways look, but didn’t deign to answer that one. For a little while they both stood quietly looking out to sea. At last Sanji pushed himself upright with a little sigh. “Well… Lunch won’t prepare itself.” He took a last pull on his cigarette, before tossing it over the rail towards the waves. “Later.” He turned and walked away.

 

Zoro watched the cook go, staying by the rail. The sweat he’d begun to work up before Sanji had arrived was drying off now; and the urge to train had faded with it. He turned his gaze down to where his weights lay on the deck, regarding them with a lack of enthusiasm. He ought to train, sure: that was how days usually went, when they were sailing. Eat; train; eat; sleep; drink; sleep again. The occasional fight if they encountered someone troublesome. Or even if they didn’t, there was always the cook to spar with. And the rest of his crazy nakama to provide a reliable source of entertainment and irritation.

That was how the days mostly passed, and usually that was good enough. Sailing the Grand Line regularly brought enough surprises that Zoro was thankful for some familiar routine in his life. Except today. Today he felt… flat. The thought of working his way through his usual set of reps was unappealing. He looked across to where his three katana lay propped against the cabin wall. Normally the sight of them would fire up his enthusiasm, or at the very least remind him of the constant need to work a little harder. Now all that surfaced was reluctance.

_Snap out of it._

His mouth set in a hard line. Every so often in the very early days, he’d struggled to find the motivation to follow the punishing regime of the dojo. As a youngster his natural aptitude with a sword had sometimes been a curious disadvantage. When things felt difficult he’d sometimes felt discouraged… where another student who’d always had to try harder might have taken the slog for granted.

Of course, that had all changed. Because of Kuina. Zoro had quickly begun to understand the necessity of pushing himself beyond what seemed like his limits, in his ambition to emerge the victor from one of their combats. And then after Kuina’s death, the promise he’d made removed forever the possibility of yielding to anything that seemed like weakness.

Which included slacking off from training. So really it was about time he quit standing scowling at his weights, and actually picked them up. Letting out a _huff_ of irritation, he stepped forward and curled his fingers around the smooth metal bar. He hefted the burden into the air; felt the soles of his feet press hard into the planking of the deck. Felt the familiarity of the movement settle into him, his body responding to what was required even if his spirit wasn’t wholly following.

 _When your spirit truly joins with intent, the body will obey._ He couldn’t remember who’d said that to him. Probably his sensei, who liked to come out with obscure comments from time to time. Zoro had a head full of sayings that had baffled him as a youngster in training, only a few of which he’d now begun to understand as an adult. Despite experiences which had illuminated the mysteries of some of his sensei’s words, many of them remained as baffling to him as Zen koans.

 _Well, for now intent will have to suffice._ He decided that if the spirit wasn’t willing, it could damn well look after itself. Faith might move mountains, but muscle power made a good substitute. In his experience, a better one.

 

 

  

“Ahh… This is my favourite part of the day.” Usopp let out a sigh of contentment, chin propped on one hand as he leaned on the rail watching the sunset. “All those colours… Just amazing. So many times I’ve tried to paint it, with no success.”

Sanji gave him a sidelong glance. The sketches and paintings of Usopp’s he’d seen had been impressive enough. Sanji’s own artistry was strictly limited to the culinary realm, but he recognised creative talent in others when he saw it. “Don’t sell yourself short. Your stuff is good.”

Usopp smiled, still gazing out to sea where the sun was dropping into its own fiery track in the  waves. “Not as good as the real thing.”

“Well, that’s a hard act to follow: sure.” Sanji also looked out over the ocean. It was an exceptionally lovely evening. The sun was a rosy glow near the horizon, falling into a sea of deepening silver-grey; above it the sky shaded down through curaçao blue, apricot yellow and watermelon pink. There was only a light swell and the sun’s declining rays shimmered off the water like a drift of fireflies.

“Admiring the sunset?” Robin’s voice sounded behind them. Both men turned, and Robin gave them a smile before she joined them at the rail. “It’s certainly worth admiring.”

“It’s a shame it only lasts for a little while.” Usopp sounded wistful. “That’s the hardest part about trying to paint a sunset. It changes every minute; and before you know it, it’s gone.”

“I think that’s part of its beauty.” Robin rested her folded arms on the rail. “That it’s ephemeral. You know it will fade. So you appreciate the moments of its glory all the more.”

Sanji smiled, drawing on his cigarette. “Unlike your beauty, Robin-chwan, which not only remains but increases day by day.”

Robin laughed. “Careful, cook. I’m not susceptible to flattery.”

“Not flattery but a truthful appraisal.” Sanji gave her a winning smile. “One might say, the sunset is outshone by your lovely self.”

“One might say such a thing… But that doesn’t make it true.” Robin gave him an answering smile. “However, I thank you for the compliment.”

“Aaah…” Usopp’s sigh of pleasure as he gazed out over the ocean was heartfelt. “There it goes...” The sun was dropping below the horizon.

 

A footstep sounded behind them. “What are you all staring at?”

 _Trust the marimo to ruin the mood._ Sanji felt his shoulders stiffen. “We were admiring a lovely sunset. Enjoying the view.”

Zoro stepped up to the rail and cast a cursory glance at the sinking sun, before giving a shrug. “Looks the same as any other evening.”

Sanji exhaled smoke through his nose. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? This spot is reserved for sentient human beings.”

“What?” Zoro frowned at the cook. Robin let out a low chuckle, while Usopp edged away slightly. Sanji flicked ash over the rail, and levelled his gaze at the swordsman. “If you can’t appreciate the finer things in life, then at least try not to spoil them for the rest of us.”

Zoro scowled, before turning on his heel and walking away. Sanji took another pull on his cigarette, giving a shake of his head. “That guy has all the manners of an ox.”

Robin gave a small tilt of her head, neither agreeing or denying. “He’s just… direct.”

“I think ‘rude’ is the word you’re searching for.” Sanji looked out to sea, where the sun had now disappeared. “He has a genius for spoiling life’s perfect moments.”

Robin laughed. “I suspect that comment has something interesting behind it.” Her dark eyes regarded him much too closely. “Care to elaborate, cook?”

Sanji felt the blood rise under his skin. He hoped that the warm sunset light hid it. “No.”

“Ah. Pity.” With a smile at him and Usopp, Robin straightened up from the rail. “I think I’ll have an early night. Sleep well.” She turned and walked away across the deck.

Sanji became aware of Usopp’s studious silence beside him. He shot the marksman a sidelong glance. “What are _you_ smirking about?”

Usopp wiped away the insinuating grin swiftly. “N-nothing, Sanji.”

“It _better_   be nothing,” Sanji growled. He drew on his cigarette until the hot sharp smoke bit at the back of his throat.

 

 

 

Zoro paced the deck of the _Going Merry_ after his rebuff from the chef, restless with irritation. The dismissive way Sanji had spoken to him buzzed in his head until he found himself gritting his teeth.

– _Don’t you have somewhere else to be?_

Normally he wouldn’t take that kind of put-down from anyone: least of all from the shitty cook. He’d launched attacks at Sanji for a lot less than that, too many times to count. He ought to head back to where that curly-browed idiot was lounging at the rail sucking on one of his ever-present cancer sticks and make him swallow the fucking thing.

Except… he just couldn’t be bothered. And that was probably what the smirking skinny little wind-up artist was after, anyway.

_To hell with him._

Zoro turned on his heel and headed straight to the hatch in the deck that led to the men’s quarters. He climbed down and headed for his hammock, hauling off his boots and dropping them carelessly on the floor. His shirt went the same way: it was still warm enough that the air down below decks felt stuffy. Pausing only to prop his katana to one side, Zoro swung himself up into his hammock and sprawled full length, dragging one arm over his eyes. Let out a long deliberate breath.

He could use some extra sack time, anyway. He’d never admit it to anyone else, but he was feeling wiped. He’d got through his training routine, despite it feeling like a slog; stood his watch all afternoon, up in the crow’s nest. He felt like he’d earned a good night’s sleep. But as he lay in the stuffy gloom, a sensation in the palm of his left hand made itself felt. A nagging little itch.

He ignored it for as long as possible. But like most things you try to ignore, the itch grew more insistent. After a few minutes, he closed his fist tightly: hoping that would subdue it: but no, the itch wasn’t fooled.

“Nghh…” Zoro growled into the crook of his arm.

_Don’t scratch. Do. Not. Scratch. It._

That worked for all of thirty seconds… Before he gave up. Reaching out to his left hand with his right, he allowed himself the luxury of a brief scrape of his fingernails across the palm, careful of the wound that was still tender there.

Zoro deliberately moved his hands away from each other: laid his right arm back over his eyes and summoned sleep to arrive soon. The relief that scratching his left palm had produced wouldn’t last, he knew. Just as he knew that the itching wasn’t a bad sign. Wounds always itched as they started to heal. It was one of the things he disliked most about injuries. Well… After receiving the injuries, obviously. And getting them stitched up, which was always reliably unpleasant.

Around him the timbers of the ship creaked and ticked, giving off the thousand little sounds that the Going Merry produced even in her quieter moments. The air still felt too warm on his skin, but it would cool down as night came on. With any luck the rest of his crewmates would stay up on deck a good while longer. Especially that pain-in-the-ass cook.

With the same perseverance that he’d had to use for every damn thing since he’d got up that morning, Zoro willed himself to sleep.

 

 

 

Sanji stayed up on deck until the dusk light had faded from the sky and the stars were starting to appear. Usopp, Chopper and Luffy started playing cards together, gathered around a lantern on the foredeck: Sanji wasn’t sure what card game exactly, although it appeared to involve a lot of shouting and laughter. Most likely one of Luffy’s surreal inventions, where you could find yourself not only uncertain of what the rules were but also completely baffled about who was winning. Luffy’s preference was usually for hands-on participation and maximum entertainment along the way… Logical rules didn’t seem to be high on his list of priorities.

Tonight, Sanji could take it or leave it. Although it was pleasant enough to sit out under the kindling stars with his back against the mast, enjoying a smoke and listening to his nakama’s laughter.

Beside him a light footstep sounded on the deck; Nami’s voice reached him. “Not joining the others?”

Sanji gave a slight shake of his head. “Not tonight. How about you?”

“I only play cards if money changes hands.” Nami sat down beside him. “Anyway, I have absolutely no idea what rules those lunatics are playing by. Neither, I suspect, do they.”

Sanji grinned. “Whatever game it is, Luffy seems to be winning.”

“Hah.” Nami grinned as well. “Doesn’t he always?” She leaned back against the mast, her shoulder resting familiarly against his own. Sanji felt the touch, comfortable and intimate, and let out a long slow smoky sigh. It was a sisterly thing to do: he knew Nami felt the same bond with him that she did for all her nakama. But that didn’t stop him from being very aware of the fact that a highly attractive redheaded woman was leaning into him, in a way that with any other woman would have been not at all sisterly. “Are you planning to fall asleep against me?”

She snorted. “In your fantasies. I’m just taking a moment to enjoy the night air before I go to bed. My watch is done.”

“Mhm. Then I guess that means mine has started.”

“You guess right.” Nami yawned hugely, stretching out her arms, then got to her feet. “But you should have an easy night. The weather’s going to stay fair, and according to the chart I’ve got there shouldn’t be any hazards to navigate around.”

“How long till the next island?”

“If the chart’s correct and the wind stays in our favour… maybe four weeks. If the wind drops or changes direction, closer to six.” Nami shrugged. “Unless we come across an island that’s not marked. Like the last one.” She gestured out to sea. “You never know when the Grand Line will hand us a surprise.”

“It’d be nice if it didn’t hand us one during my watch.” Sanji also stood up. “How come the last island wasn’t on the map?”

“Too small for whoever drew the chart to think it was important, maybe.” Nami frowned. “Sloppy cartography.” She pronounced this last judgement as if she was saying, _mass murder_.

Sanji smiled. “Not everyone can be as fine a navigator as you, Nami-swan.”

“It’s not difficult to get things _right_.” Nami gestured seawards, into the infinite darkness of water and night sky. “Get sloppy out here and you could wind up in big trouble. Drawing an inaccurate chart isn’t just laziness… it’s dangerous. Not just for you, but for all those who follow after you, trusting your work.”

Sanji blinked. He’d never considered it in quite that light before. Put that way, Nami’s goal to draw charts of the world’s oceans seemed suddenly rather more than a personal ambition. If she completed her dream… it would be an astounding legacy for all seafarers coming after them.

_Maybe one day showing the way to All Blue._

“Sanji-kun?” Nami prodded him. “Ehi, quit day-dreaming. It’s your watch now, remember?”

Sanji shook his head slightly, then smiled at her. “Uh… Okay. Sweet dreams, Nami-swan.” He watched her walk off, before heading to the rigging and climbing up to the crow’s nest.

 

 

As Nami had prophesied, the early night watch was an uneventful one. When the raucous card game on deck finally broke up and his nakama went below, Sanji had little to do except sit regarding the stars and the faintly glimmering sea. The crow’s nest rocked gently; the ropes creaked and the sail rustled and swelled in the darkness. Sanji kept himself from dozing by running recipes through his mind; mentally taking inventory of their stores of food and water and calculating how long supplies would last, what must be eaten first. When that was done he occupied himself by trying to invent names for the constellations he could see above him, with the self-imposed rule that all of them had to be somehow connected to cooking.

He still had about a quarter of the sky to go when a scuffle and thump at the side of the crow’s nest signalled the end of his four-hour watch. Usopp’s head appeared over the edge, face stretched wide in mid-yawn. “Yaa…aaahhh…ahhh…” He swung his legs over and into the crow’s nest. “Hey. Anything happening?”

“Nope.” Sanji rubbed his neck, which had grown stiff from looking up at the sky. “Going Merry seems to know where’s she’s heading.” He climbed over the edge of the crow’s nest onto the rigging. “She’s all yours.”

“Sleep well,” Usopp bade him, as Sanji climbed downwards.

 

When he descended the ladder into the men’s sleeping area, a robust chorus of snoring greeted him. Sanji had bunked in all-male shipboard quarters most of his life and was well-used to the lack of refinement this meant. On the Baratie the snoring had sometimes reached epic proportions – Patti and Carne being two of the worst culprits, naturally – and Sanji had sometimes resorted to wrapping his head in his pillow to block out the worst of the barrage. More often than not though, he had been exhausted enough that sleep took him under regardless of whatever disturbance was going on around him. Being a chef was tiring enough; but coupled with working under a tyrant like Zeff, on a sea-going restaurant where when you weren’t feeding the customers you were generally engaged in kicking the shit out of them when they cut up rough, meant that Sanji usually needed whatever sleep he could fit in.

On board the Going Merry it was different. He was still busy, sure; and when they hit a patch of rough weather or other trouble there was more than enough work for the small Mugiwara crew to handle. But there were other times too: like now, when the weather was fair and the ship virtually sailed herself. Days when he could potter about in the galley trying out new recipes for snacks and refreshing drinks; stretch out in the shade beside Nami’s tangerine trees and watch the cloudshapes drift across the blue sky overhead. Days when life was sweet. When you could just relax and let your cares drift away –

Sanji’s pleasant musings were cut short when he trod on something on the floor that shifted, turning his ankle sideways and sending him spilling onto hands and knees. “Shit!” The snoring around him never faltered. Sanji reached back and groped in the gloom: his fingers met a boot. Its size told him unmistakeably whose it was. “Fucking inconsiderate bastard…” He hurled Zoro’s boot away into the darkness, before getting to his feet and stumbling on towards his hammock. A moment later his steps were sabotaged again by the second boot. “Aghh! Crap marimo…” He sent it winging into obscurity to join its brother, before cautiously negotiating the remaining distance to his berth.

Once he was lying in his hammock, he let out a long sigh. In just a few short hours it would be time to get up and prepare breakfast. The snores of his nakama and the irritating habits of a certain crap swordsman were certainly not going to keep him awake. With that resolve, Sanji settled himself a little more comfortably and let slumber claim him.


	5. Night Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An intruder from the past appears on board the Going Merry.

_Sounds familiar, bad dreams can kill ya  
_ _The deeper the sleep the realer  
_ _Be careful what you dream for because it’s right there  
_ _Sometimes daydreams turn into nightmares_

-       _Swollen Members_

\-----

_Zoro went from fast asleep to wide awake in the space of a heartbeat, opening his eyes into darkness. All around him came the snores of his sleeping nakama, a symphony of different tones. Familiar and comforting. Except there was something off. Some feeling of… wrongness, that had woken him. He listened hard, wondering what it was that had pulled him to alertness._

_Then he heard it. The faint scrape of a footstep on the planking over his head. Someone walking across the deck of the ship._

_Which meant nothing. Someone would be on watch: he couldn’t remember whose turn it was, but one of his nakama would be up there. Wouldn’t they?_

_Except: the skin on the back of his neck was crawling, as if chilly fingers were touching him there. And some wrongness, some sense of impending disaster sat sick in the pit of his stomach. The feeling pushed him upright: swinging his legs from his hammock and shrugging on his shirt, he moved barefoot to pick up his katana before climbing silently up the ladder and up through the hatch onto the deck._

_It seemed bright up there after the darkness below: starlight and the beginnings of the sky lightening near the horizon, showing that dawn was on its way. He could see clearly about the deck, and no-one was there. When he looked up at the crow’s nest, there seemed to be no-one on watch aloft. Which was… wrong. There was always someone on watch, at night._

_Behind him the quiet brush of a footstep on planking made him turn swiftly, hand drawing Wado Ichimonji. A man stood just beyond his reach, long coat fluttering in the night breeze, wide-brimmed hat casting his eyes into shadow._

_“Your nakama should keep better watch.” The voice was just as he remembered it. Cool, assured. “For those with such high prices on their heads.”_

_“You’re a bounty hunter now?” Zoro kept the surprise he felt out of his voice, while keeping his sword extended. “Does it pay better than being a government dog?”_

_He saw Mihawk’s head lift; a cold smile form on his face. “You should know, pirate hunter. Or should I say, failed pirate hunter.”_

_“I didn’t fail. I quit.” Zoro stepped sideways, wanting to draw the master swordsman away from the hatch that led below decks. “I found something better to do.”_

_“Becoming a pirate yourself? A gamekeeper turned poacher.” Mihawk sounded dismissive. “A life without honour.”_

_“And being a privateer for the World Government: that makes you an honourable man?” Zoro snorted. “Don’t make me laugh.”_

_“You think that the Shichibukai are a laughing matter? Interesting. I didn’t think you were a fool, Roronoa Zoro.” Mihawk stepped sideways himself, following the other swordsman’s movement effortlessly. “You claim to want to become the greatest swordsman in the world… But your ambitions will continue to surpass your abilities, if you underestimate your enemies.”_

_“So you’re my enemy now?”_

_“What else should I be, when you claim your intent to replace me as the greatest swordsman in the world? Your ally?”_

_Zoro clenched his fingers around the hilt of his sword. “I seem to recall you telling me to grow strong. To strive to surpass you.”_

_Mihawk shrugged. “I would welcome a challenge from no less than an equal. Anything else would be a waste of my time. Our previous encounter should have shown you that.”_

_Zoro gritted his teeth. “I’ve grown stronger since we last met.”_

_“I would hope so.” Mihawk sounded amused. “But not, I suspect, anything close to where you must be before you cross swords with me again. Still just a little frog croaking in his puddle.”_

_“So why the hell are you here?” Zoro could barely contain the anger building up in him at the other man’s maddening demeanour. “You were in the neighbourhood? Dropping in to pay a courtesy call?”_

_“I came because of your young captain.” Mihawk’s voice was suddenly stripped of humour._

_“What about him?”_

_“Monkey D. Luffy has become something of an… irritation to the World Government.”_

_Zoro made a dismissive sound. “Yeah, well: that’s what he’s good at.”_

_“When he defeated one of the seven warlords of the sea… it became clear that he is an unpredictable force in the Grand Line. And that will not be tolerated.”_

_“So, you’re here to do, what – deal with him?” Zoro grinned. “I’d like to see you try.”_

_“I don’t need to disturb him.” Mihawk gestured at the deck below his feet. “He can remain asleep. As can your other nakama.” With a sudden movement he drew his sword, bringing it between them. “They won’t even know that their ship is sinking.”_

_A vivid memory arose in Zoro’s mind: Don Krieg’s ship cleaved asunder, the pieces foundering in the waves. And he knew Mihawk’s words were an accurate prediction. If the warlord did the same thing here, the Mugiwara wouldn’t wake until the sea rushed in amongst them, too late to save themselves… or each other._

_“Devil fruit powers… A foolish thing to rely on, when you make your life on the sea.” Mihawk sounded dismissive. “All the fighting abilities your captain has won’t save him when he sinks like a stone to the ocean floor.”_

_Zoro deliberately transferred Wado Ichimonji to his mouth: drew his other two katana. “You plan on sending him there? Just try it, you arrogant bastard.”_

_Mihawk regarded him steadily. “You were not strong enough to fight me before. You only escaped death because I chose to leave you alive. Are you really so eager to end your life?”_

_“I told you: I’ve grown stronger.” Zoro flexed his fingers on the hilts of his katana. “And you sinking this ship? Not going to happen.”_

_A thin smile curved the other swordsman’s lips. Then the black blade was moving, slicing across so fast that the air hissed. Zoro brought Kitetsu and Yubashiri together to block the attack, and felt the impact jar through his arms and body down to the soles of his feet. He let the impetus carry him, pivoting, turning the force of Mihawk’s assault aside and then using his movement to spin into a counter-attack._

_Mihawk turned his blades aside, with seemingly little effort. Zoro didn’t pause: pressing in with another attack, and another. Determined to make the other man give ground, or at the very least remove that irritating smile from his lips. Metal rang on metal; his wrists jarred under the impact. He moved without thinking, following instinct, pouring his strength into each blow. And yet everywhere his katana lashed out, that black blade checked their swing. He was doing his utmost but it was not enough: and the harder he fought the more he felt the other man’s dominance._

_“Enough. Know your limitations.” Mihawk’s blade drew back, then flickered forward and seemed to weave around Yubashiri and Kitetsu. Zoro felt his two katana plucked from his hands, falling away towards the rail of the ship: heard the splash as they plunged into the sea and were gone. He felt a moment’s pang, for the loss of two more swords; but with scarcely a heartbeat’s pause transferred Wado Ichimonji from his mouth to his left hand and resumed a fighting stance._

_Mihawk lowered his own sword until the point almost touched the planking of the deck. “I once told you it was too soon for you to die. But I will not spare you a second time, if you persist with this fight. You said you wished to become the greatest swordsman in the world. Are you willing to give up your goal, then? To die for another man’s dream?”_

_Zoro clenched his jaw. “Luffy is going to be King of the Pirates.”_

_Mihawk shook his head. “That is a fool’s hope. But you must value your own ambition lightly, if you cast it so easily aside. And that tells me that you would never have achieved it.”_

_Zoro felt fury fill his heart at these words: he used the rage to drive Wado Ichimonji forward, aiming for the other man’s head._

_Moving around Wado Ichimonji like smoke, Mihawk’s black sword slid past. It buried deep between Zoro’s ribs and pierced through his body, driving out his back below one shoulderblade. For a moment time was frozen, caught between one heartbeat and the next: then Mihawk’s arm drew back and Zoro felt the steel drag back through him. His breath came with it, shuddering out as he fell onto his knees._

_“It is over.” Mihawk stepped back. “You have wasted your chance.”_

_Zoro tried to breathe; coughed wetly, tasted blood. The pain was a burning spear driven through his chest and back, almost robbing him of the power to move._

_Almost._

_Gritting his teeth he forced himself to straighten, his legs to bring him back to standing. His hand shook as he tightened it on Wado Ichimonji’s hilt; blood filled his mouth and he spat it onto the deck, lifting his katana and staring at Mihawk. “Not – getting – past me.” The effort of speaking worsened the pain and the point of his sword wavered, then steadied. “I swore I would – never lose again - ”_

_“Another ambition that you have failed to meet.” Mihawk held him with that pale, steady gaze. “A pity. I had high hopes of you one day, Roronoa Zoro.”_

_Zoro moved then, striking out with Wado Ichimonji with all the strength he had left. He barely saw the other man move: felt the breath of air as the black blade moved past his. Then an agonising slash of fire as its edge cleaved across him like a bolt of lightning; an echo of the wound that had scarred him so long ago, but this time Mihawk not holding back, this time no quarter given._

_He didn’t feel Wado Ichimonji fall from his fingers: just heard the clank of his katana as it landed on the deck. And himself, a second later, falling beside it. And although the blood now filled his mouth and he knew there was no way he could stand again, his hand still reached out for Wado Ichimonji; his fingers shaking as he tried to close them around the hilt._

_“This is defeat.” Mihawk stood over him: reached down and picked up the katana. “You have failed in your goal, and you have failed your friends. All that is left for you to do is die.” He extended his arm sideways and opened his hand: let Wado Ichimonji fall over the rail into the sea. “And soon your friends will be joining you in death.”_

_Zoro felt himself bleeding out; unable to move, even to cry out and warn his nakama. All he could do was watch as Mihawk raised his dark blade high, before bringing it down to send the Going Merry_ _and all aboard her to their end in the deep sea._

 

 

And then he was sitting upright in his hammock in the dark, breathing hard: and all around him were the soft rhythms of his nakama snoring in the peaceful darkness.

“Uhhh…” Zoro blinked in the dark, trying to penetrate the gloom. Beneath his breastbone he could feel his heart hammering hard. He found his hand lifting, pressing against his chest, as if by doing so he could calm the jolting beneath his fingers.

_Take it easy, idiot. It was just a dream._

He took a deliberate, steady breath; then another. Willed his heart to slow from its ridiculous gallop. Gradually it did so, until the rhythm beneath the palm of his hand was approximately normal. He let his hand drop away.

In the silence came the slight scrape of a footstep on the planking of the deck above him.

Zoro felt his heart rev up again, his fists clenching tight.

 

Deliberately, he slid down from his hammock. Reached in the darkness for where he’d left his katana propped when he’d gone to sleep; groped for his shirt too. Stepped to the mast and climbed barefoot up the ladder, fingers wrapped round the smooth wood, all the while telling himself sternly, _This is not dreaming, you’re awake, idiot._

When he opened the hatch and stepped out onto the main deck, early dawn light made him blink. Over by the rail Usopp turned to look at him a little blearily, before giving a hesitant wave. “Morning.”

Zoro grunted: the most he felt capable of. _Of course. He was walking across the deck. That’s all you heard._ It made sense now: Usopp getting restless towards the end of his night watch, stretching his legs to stay wakeful. The sounds of his footsteps had crept into Zoro’s sleep, filled his dreams with shadows.

Usopp was regarding him curiously now. “You’re up early. Couldn’t sleep?”

Zoro considered mentioning his ill-omened dream… then decided against it. “Something like that.”

Usopp yawned, then knuckled his eyes. “Well… Looks like it’s going to be another beautiful day.” He turned to lean on the rail again, gazing out to sea.

Zoro looked out too, to where dawn was chasing the night away. He breathed the fresh salt air of morning in; closed his eyes as he filled his lungs.


	6. Underneath My Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoro needs to relax… So spending the night with Sanji should be the perfect distraction.

_Dreams, I have dreams_  
 _When I’m awake, when I’m asleep_  
 _And you, you are in my dreams  
_ _You’re un_ _derneath my skin_

-       _The Cranberries_

  

\-----

  

“Oi, Luffy, Chopper! That’s my seventh fish!” The relative quietness of the early evening on Going Merry was broken as Usopp’s gleeful tones rang across the deck. “And it’s bigger than any of yours!”

“Yada!” Luffy’s answering yell brooked no defeat. “My fish are just as big as yours, long-nose!”

“In your dreams, rubber boy!”

Reclining gracefully with a book in a chair on the foredeck, Robin marked her place with one finger, before glancing at the three Mugiwara fishing over the rail. One corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. “I predict that tomorrow’s menu will feature fish. And possibly the next day’s menu, also.”

“Only if those idiots catch anything that’s actually edible.” Nami was similarly comfortably at ease in a chair, her eyes closed.

“Whatever they provide, I’m sure that Sanji will transform it into something good. He never fails to serve up something delicious.”

Nami smirked. “He does have his uses.”

Over at the rail Luffy hauled up something long and wriggly on the end of his line, which promptly twisted free of the hook and slithered across the deck towards Chopper. “Ha - it’s an eel! That’s longer than anything you two have caught!”

“Waahhh!!” Chopper took one look at the writhing silver-green creature undulating towards him and galloped away, forsaking his fishing line.

“Hey, don’t let it escape! That’s cheating!” Luffy set out in hot pursuit, bounding across the deck. As he passed Usopp he managed to snag the marksman’s coil of fishing line with one foot, yanking him into a snarled-up tangle.

 

“Ah, the happy sounds of my nakama relaxing.” Sanji appeared beside Robin and Nami, watching the chaos unfold. “Shortly to be followed by the happy sounds of my nakama punching each other upside the head, I’m guessing.”

“It makes a change from you and Zoro going at it.” Nami opened her eyes and regarded him mischievously.

Sanji gave a shrug. “That crap swordsman needs his ass kicked at least once a day to keep him in line. It’s a thankless task, but someone’s got to do it.”

“Noble chef.” Nami settled herself more comfortably in her chair, smiling. “Your tireless attention to duty makes you a truly valuable member of the crew. Well, that and your cooking.”

“Thank you. I’m overwhelmed by your compliments, Nami-swan.” Sanji gave a courtly bow, followed by blowing a kiss.

“Careful,” commented Robin, smiling as she returned to reading her book. “When Nami gives compliments, she usually expects something in return.”

“I will give her my undying devotion,” proclaimed Sanji fervently.

“What about snacks?” Nami’s tone was practical.

“Of course!” Sanji gestured extravagantly. “You’re hungry, my gorgeous flower? Or thirsty, perhaps?”

Nami gave this question her considered attention. “Hmm... A little thirsty, perhaps.”

“Then I will return, in a twinkling, with something to soothe your dry throat. And for you also, beautiful Robin-chwan.”

“Thank you,” answered Robin pleasantly, her eyes still bent on her book. Sanji gave them both one more love-filled beam, before turning and striding off towards the galley.

“You’re shameless.” Robin’s pronouncement to Nami was in observational rather than critical tones.

“Why? He enjoys catering to our every whim. I’m doing him a favour.”

“You’re going to get fat.”

“Ha. Not much chance of that with Luffy on board.”

 

 

 

Sanji entered the galley with his thoughts already conjuring up visions of the evening drink he was going to prepare, something soothing to body and mind. Chamomile and lime blossom tisane, sweetened with honey… And some lemon grass to give a little zing to the palate.

His train of thought was interrupted at the sight of Zoro in the galley. Sanji came to a halt, frowning: then as the swordsman turned at his footstep, the cook saw the bottle of wine in the other man’s hand. “Oi… You’re helping yourself, are you?”

“Got a problem with that?” Zoro’s response was truculent.

Sanji stepped past him, glancing at the bottle. “No. As long as you’re not taking the good stuff.”

“Don’t worry, curly-brow. I haven’t touched those overpriced musty old brews you’re so fond of. I just wanted a drink.”

“Mm?” Sanji was taking out what he needed for preparing the tisane, and really couldn’t be bothered with the marimo right now. His eye fell on something standing on the table: another wine bottle, empty. “Hah… Or several drinks, by the look of it.”

“So?” Still the adversarial tone. When Sanji looked around, Zoro’s brows were drawn down into a stubborn line.

The chef sighed. “So, nothing. You want to drink yourself stupider than you are, go ahead. Just clear out of my kitchen, I need to cook.”

The stubborn frown morphed into slight puzzlement. “Supper was over an hour ago.”

“I’m not making supper, moron. I’m making evening drinks for Nami and Robin.”

“Oh.” Zoro’s mouth gave a twist, before he raised his new bottle to it and took a swig. “Figures. The ero-cook panting over his ladies.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” Sanji turned his back on the swordsman and began selecting dried herbs from the racks of jars in his store cupboard: smelling a pinch of each one appreciatively before he placed them carefully into a teapot. He reached for a stalk of lemon grass and laid it on a chopping board, then picked up his knife.

 

The floor behind him creaked. A moment later, the solid bulk of the swordsman laid itself familiarly against his back, one hand sliding onto his hip. Sanji frowned at his chopping board, taking care to position his knife precisely on the stem of the lemon grass. “Hey. I’m busy.”

For an answer he felt the warm ghost of breath stir the hairs at the back of his neck. The hand on his hip slid around to his stomach: drew him slightly closer. Sanji focussed on slicing the lemon grass into paper thin slivers. “Oi. I’m _cooking_.”

“I’m not stopping you.” Zoro’s murmur came close by Sanji’s ear: a moment later, a tongue traced its way across the side of his neck, making the cook stutter with his knife and catch his breath. He closed his eyes for a second, stilling his knife hand for safety; then opened his eyes again. “Hah… Stop it.”

“Make me.” The tongue traced its way along skin again.

“Nghh…” Sanji gave a twitch to his head, trying to evade the swordsman’s attentions. His hand released the knife, laying it flat on the table: then he swivelled suddenly, using one leg to push Zoro backwards. “I told you, I’m busy. Get lost.”

Zoro regarded him levelly, before taking another swig of wine. “Too busy to fuck?”

Sanji’s eyebrows raised. “O, with a seduction line like that, suddenly I’m overwhelmed with romance.”

“You want seduction?” Zoro stepped in close again, too swift to evade, closing his mouth on his lover’s. Sanji tasted wine; taken by surprise his mouth yielded, then the kiss deepened and he was kissing Zoro back, body responding pleasurably… Before thoughts of his nakama waiting out on deck surfaced again. He pulled back, breaking the kiss; pushing the swordsman back with one hand against his shoulder. “Mhh – enough.”

Zoro met his gaze. “Sure about that? Seemed like you were starting to enjoy it.”

Sanji huffed with irritation. “You’re so full of it.”

“What’s the problem? We’re two consenting adults.”

“Correction: one non-consenting adult, and one half-drunk adult acting like an adolescent.”

“I’m not drunk.” Zoro’s mouth lifted at one corner. “And that kiss felt like consent to me.”

“If I kick your ass across this galley, will that feel like consent too?” Sanji gave him a dangerous look.

“You want to fight?”

“No, you moron – I want to finish doing what I came in here to do. Making some fucking drinks for the ladies, who are probably wondering where the hell I’ve got to.”

Zoro seemed finally to realise his persistence wasn’t going to make Sanji succumb. “Whatever.” He sounded resigned: his shoulders seemed to drop a little. Sanji felt relief, but tinged a little with surprise. It wasn’t often their battles ended so easily. As the swordsman started to turn away, Sanji spoke up. “Hey.” Zoro paused, his eyes glancing back to look at the cook. “You know, your timing sucks. But there’s always… later on.”

Zoro regarded him levelly; raised the bottle to his lips and took another drink. Then he lowered it, and gave Sanji a slow smile. “Yeah. There is.”

“Well… Later.” Sanji answered with a smile of his own, before turning back to the table and picking up his knife again. After a moment he heard the galley door close.

 

 

 

Nami and Robin happily accepted their fragrant warm tisane, served in two eggshell-thin porcelain cups. After receiving their thanks and spending a little while basking in the afterglow while enjoying a cigarette, Sanji then had to deal with the random results of his other nakama’s fishing contest. Separating out the edible fish from the unpalatable, toxic or merely hideous took a little while: the rejects he discreetly tossed over the rail when no-one was looking, after wrapping up the usable catch and stowing it in the fridge.

Cleaning up the galley was his usual final task of the day: he took his time about it, straightening up his store cupboard as he worked. Once everything was wiped down and tidied away, he made a brew of green tea; lit a lamp and set it on the table. Sat down and waited.

 

It was almost midnight when he heard the galley door creak. A cool breath of night air wafted in, then the creak of the door came again as it closed. Footsteps approached the table: then there was a pause, before Zoro spoke. “Is this later enough?”

Sanji smiled, cradling his cup of tea. “Yeah.”

There was the soft _bump_ of a wine bottle being set down on the table, before Zoro sat beside him. “Good.”

Sanji looked at him. The swordsman was running his finger lightly up and down the side of the bottle, stroking the smooth glass. There looked to be only a mouthful of wine left. “Want another?”

“No.” Zoro took his hand away from the bottle, turned his gaze onto Sanji. “That’s not what I want.”

Sanji felt a warmth blossoming somewhere near the pit of his stomach. He deliberately took a final sip of his tea, before setting his cup down. “You want some tea, then?”

“Toroi…” Zoro’s voice was a low growl, as he leaned towards the cook. Sanji felt the swordsman’s hand close around his arm, tugging him closer until their mouths met.

The lamplight made a soft yellow circle around them. It was some time before they broke for air. Sanji opened his eyes and saw Zoro’s, steady in the flickering light. “Are you on watch tonight?”

“No.” Zoro’s hand rested on Sanji’s side now, fingers caressing his ribs through his shirt. “How about you?”

“I was up last night.” Sanji gave an involuntary breath as the swordsman’s questing fingers slid in between the buttons of his shirt. “Mmh… Take it easy. You rip the buttons off any more of my shirts and I’ll kick you overboard.”

“Undo them, then.”

“You undo them.”

“No problem.” Zoro did as asked: seconds later, Sanji felt the warm wet press of his lover’s mouth against his chest, fastening onto one nipple. He caught his breath, his hand going to the back of Zoro’s head. Slid his fingers into the short hair there and let his eyes close. _This is how it should be._ The tongue moving, circling against his skin: Zoro’s hand sliding round to the small of his back, drawing him closer. Only the sounds of their breathing and the creaking of the ship settling down into night.

 

They ended up on the floor, on a makeshift nest of blankets and cushions that was their usual bed in the galley. There was never enough time to fix up anything more organised in the heat of the moment; and afterwards they both usually slid into sleep without worrying about it.

This time was no different. Sanji hadn’t planned for this to happen tonight, but he was more than happy to rise to the occasion. He felt his body coming alight under the swordsman’s mouth and hands: returned the attentions in kind. Zoro shivered under his touch, sought Sanji’s mouth out with his own and bore down on him with a duelling tongue. They grappled; tugged each other closer; shed the rest of their clothes and wound together, skin on skin.

When they were moving together, close to the edge and breathing hard, Sanji felt Zoro’s hand find his: the fingers intertwine, then clench tight. The cook opened his eyes, feeling the wave building within him. Zoro was looking down at him, lips slightly parted, eyes dark. Their bodies moved, moved: he saw Zoro’s eyes shut, heard a gasp leave him. Then his own surge hit and he was shuddering, groaning with release.

 

Afterwards they lay for a while in the lamplight side by side; Zoro’s arm underneath Sanji’s shoulders, the cook’s leg hooked comfortably over the swordsman’s thigh. Sanji felt relaxed, almost boneless. Only the chill of the night air roused him, unwillingly, from near-dreaming. He murmured, “Oi… The lantern needs putting out. And pull the blanket up while you’re at it.”

“Nnh.” Zoro grunted unpromisingly, but a moment later Sanji felt him move. There was a rustling, then the darkness through his eyelids deepened as the lamp went out. A few seconds later he felt a blanket unceremoniously dragged up over them both. Sanji smiled. He let himself stretch out against Zoro’s warmth, now back beside him. “Better.”

“Slave driver.” Zoro’s low growl was unconvincing.

“Quit complaining.” Sanji let out a luxurious yawn, settling closer against his lover. “Wuhhh… I’m beat.” He yawned again.

“Then stop talking and go to sleep, idiot.”

“I plan to.” Sanji yawned a third time, then let out a sigh. “Hey, marimo.”

“Sleeping.” The response was firm.

Sanji spoke lightly. “Sometimes, your timing doesn’t suck.” There was no response, but he felt the muscles of the body lying next to his relax. Breathing in and out slowly, easing himself down into sleep, he smiled in the quiet darkness.

 

           

 

 

_Zoro wasn’t sure what woke him from sleep. He opened his eyes and the light was early dawn, wan and pale as it fell across the galley floor from the porthole. He regarded it for a little while, wondering how he ended up sleeping on the floor. Or not on the floor, exactly: cushions were lying under him on the wooden deck, and there was a blanket pulled up to his waist. And above that, a familiar arm draped over him, the hand resting familiarly on his belly._

_He smiled at that. Of course: they wound up sleeping here. Not straight away though. First they… found ways of staying awake._

_The hand resting on his belly stirred slightly: pressed against him. And behind him the body that he knew almost as well as he knew his own pressed against him too. He felt breath huff warm against the back of his neck. Lips touched, then lifted away. A murmur came, close by his ear. “Are you awake?”_

_For an answer he placed his own hand over the one resting on his belly. Slid his fingers between those he found there. He felt Sanji’s smile against his neck. Still softly, the cook spoke again. “Good morning.”_

_It was good but it could have been better. Zoro kept his fingers linked in his lover’s: pressed down, guiding their hands lower._

_Sanji chuckled near his ear. “Hentai...”_

_“You woke me up.” Zoro guided Sanji’s hand to where he wanted it. “Deal with it.” He was hard, already. Gone from asleep and dead to the world, to wide awake and heat pooling in his belly, his spine, his groin; every breath from Sanji feathering the back of his neck, sending warm shivers through him._

_“O, shall I?” Sanji still spoke close to his ear, then gave it a long slow lick. “Let’s see… Maybe I’d rather go back to sleep.”_

_Zoro clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to retort. Not least because although Sanji’s words and his tongue were teasing, the cook’s hand was not. It was curling around, grip tightening, fingers stroking, doing what Zoro wanted it to. And he responded to it: moving with the slow rhythm Sanji was setting, letting himself follow the pulse that gathered momentum as the heat built and sweat slid where their skin touched._

_“Turn on your back.” Sanji’s lips brushed his ear again and Zoro rolled towards his lover, eyes meeting his as the cook slid one leg over and straddled his hips, both hands braced by the swordsman’s shoulders. Sanji bent forward and their mouths found each other: lips pressed and parted, tongues reaching, questing. It went on and on and Zoro didn’t mind the lack of breath because he liked kissing and the cook was very good at it. So when they finally broke the air rushed into his lungs with a little gasp. And then rushed out again the same way, when Sanji pressed his mouth to his neck._

_“I want to taste you… all over.” Sanji’s voice was a purr now and Zoro felt his tongue work its way along his collarbone. “As a chef, I have a very fine sense of taste. I like to… savour things.” The tongue licked its way downwards. Found Zoro’s nipple and traced a slow circle around it. “To enjoy them.”_

_Zoro shut his eyes again, because right now he wanted only to feel. The warm press of Sanji’s tongue against him: and then a pause as the tongue lifted away… followed by the sudden chill of a breath blown against the wet skin, making him shiver. He heard Sanji give another soft chuckle, before the warmth of his mouth closed over Zoro’s nipple again – and teeth closed on the sensitive flesh so that Zoro started and let out an involuntary grunt._

_“Ha…” Sanji’s mouth moved against his chest. “You taste good enough to eat.”_

_“Mmhh…” Zoro held himself still, with an effort. He wanted this to go on, for maybe a few hours. Or forever. He was spinning out with the sensations that the cook’s mouth and hands were producing on his body: every inch of him felt alive, humming with energy. Fingers slid down his ribs, brushed his skin. A tongue trailed wetly across his chest and down his breastbone, leaving a cold line behind. For a moment he thought it would continue downwards and he felt himself gathering in expectation – but then tongue and hands drifted up again, touching here and there, teeth nipping, sending shivers through him until he thought he would come apart at the seams._

_He felt a cold light touch trace his neck, slide down to the notch where his throat met his breastbone. The cold touch pressed in and suddenly there was a sting, a sharp smart that deepened from pleasure into pain in the space of a heartbeat and made his eyes fly open._

_Sanji was still leaning over him, a sensual smile on his face, the pupils of his eyes blown wide and dark. His right hand was poised over Zoro’s chest, his slender fingers curled around the handle of his santoku knife, exerting just enough pressure for the steel edge to break the skin. “A chef also has very fine knife skills.”_

_Zoro felt the pressure on the blade increase: the sting of pain become something worse. He tried to bring up his hands, to catch Sanji’s and pull them away, but nothing happened. His strength was gone, his muscles trembled but would not move. All that he was able to do was let out a sound, not even a word. “Nn…nuh!”_

_Sanji smiled down at him, then lifted one finger to his lips. “Shh. You wanted this.” And his other hand started to move._

_Zoro felt the thin sharp steel slice down his chest, pressing through skin, flesh, into bone: he tried to gather enough breath to yell but the blade reached his stomach and slid in deeper than any sword had ever gone and he felt Sanji’s fist press against him in a warm wet burst of pain as the knife drove through_

 

and Zoro was sitting up, bolt upright in darkness. Warm liquid was trickling on his skin and his hand flew upwards, clawing against his stomach as it tried to pull out the knife that he still thought was buried there. His fingers met only his own skin, slippery with sweat. He stayed frozen for a moment, feeling the thudding of his heart under his ribs.

Then a hand reached up and touched his side; a voice came out of the darkness. “Oi… What are you doing?”

Zoro reacted without thinking, still mired in the world he’d just come from. He swept his arm down, smashing the reaching hand from his side. A blanket caught around his legs and he kicked it free, rolling sideways across the floor and coming up fast but unsteady onto his feet. Still in the dark: and because of the dark, colliding with something solid that almost sent him back onto his knees; flailing with his arms to stay upright and knocking over something else that tumbled to the floor by his feet with a horribly loud smashing sound. He staggered back and felt his hand strike a hard surface: clenched his fingers around what felt like a wooden edge and managed to come to a stumbling halt.

Which was when a rasping _flick_ and small flare of flame pierced the darkness. Before the small flame kindled a larger one: revealing Sanji, standing next to the lamp he’d just lit, looking at Zoro with a frown as he wrung one hand. “Fuck… That hurt, damn marimo!”

Zoro stared back at him, teeth clenched; hands clenched too, in fists that shook slightly. Sanji’s gaze moved from his face to the shaking fists: his frown deepened. “What is it?”

Tightening his hands until his knuckles whitened, Zoro got the shaking to stop. “…Nothing.”

“Oh?” Sanji regarded him under lowered brows, then at the floor. Zoro looked too. An empty wine bottle lay broken into glittering shards, the result of his blundering in the dark. Sanji let out a sigh. “So why are you flying out of bed and breaking up the place? Fighting in your sleep now?”

“I wasn’t…” Zoro reached for words, but found he had none he was willing to share. To avoid having to answer, he reached down and began picking up the broken glass.

“Careful.” Sanji moved as if to reach out and help.

“I smashed it: I’ll clear it up.” Zoro scooped up the fragments quickly, closing his hands around them. Beside him was the table, the solid thing he’d collided with in the dark: he tipped the shards of glass onto its top. As he opened his hands, his right palm stung: he let out a hiss, lifting it to see a line of blood beading along the ball of his thumb. “Shit.”

“You cut yourself?” Sanji stood up, extending his hand towards his wrist. “Idiot. Let me see - ”

Zoro backed away from him so sharply it took them both by surprise. After an uncomfortable silence, Sanji spoke in a voice that was carefully controlled. “Or… not.”

Zoro pressed his thumb against the cut the broken glass had sliced on his hand, applying pressure. “It’s nothing.”

“Right.” Sanji was regarding him assessingly, a frown drawing down his spiralled brow again. “In that case… Maybe we could go back to bed.”

Zoro looked down at the blanket, the cushions on the floor. Felt something cold and tight clench in his guts. “I’m… going out on deck. I need some fresh air.”

Sanji opened his mouth as if to argue; then closed it again. His shoulders dropped a little. After a moment, he turned away, picking up the blanket from the floor and shaking it out. “Whatever. But I’m going back to sleep. It’s too early to get up and start preparing breakfast, and I sure as hell don’t feel like a night time stroll.”

Zoro said nothing more. Moving quickly he hauled on his shirt and pants, strode to the galley door and made his exit. There was a silence: still standing holding the blanket, Sanji regarded the closed door with a frown.

 _Never a dull moment with that idiot._ Uncomfortably woken from what had been a sound sleep, he wasn’t much inclined to cut the swordsman any slack. Then the image of Zoro’s shaking fists rose uncomfortably in his mind.

_That was definitely weird._

Sitting down in the cushions on the floor, blanket draped round his shoulders, Sanji had the feeling that despite his words to the swordsman, there was little chance he was going to get any more sleep. Sighing, he reached for his cigarettes.

 

 

 

 

On deck it was still dark, although the sky to the east was starting to lighten with the approach of dawn. Zoro stood with his arms folded on the aft rail and breathed in, out: willed the night to pass away.

He had walked straight round behind the cabin, unwilling to be seen by whoever was on watch. The pre-dawn air was chilly, cooler than it had been for days. He felt his skin tightening under the chill, his muscles tense.

The dream squatted in his mind like a malignant goblin, images still all too vivid. He tried to think of something else, to focus on the dim moving sea, but with little success. He could still see Sanji’s smile, hear the purr of the cook’s voice; feel the thin sharp steel slicing through his skin.

_\- You wanted this._

Zoro’s stomach flinched involuntarily. A breath escaped him: he found his hands clenching tight on his arms, fingers digging into the flesh. Forcing himself to let go, he pushed himself upright and stared out over the sea, towards the lightening horizon. Wondered just what the hell the point of bad dreams was, anyway. As if you didn’t get enough to deal with when you were awake; being ambushed in your sleep by crazy dark fantasies seemed altogether unnecessary.

 

He had been glad to find Sanji receptive to spending the night together. All the previous day he had felt restless and unsettled, finally resorting to wine to try to wind himself down. Being with Sanji had been a welcome change: good sex, after which he’d felt himself sliding down into deep and comfortable sleep, lulled by the familiar feel of the cook’s body curled against his own.

But that comfortable sleep had led into the gut-churning nightmare. Which in turn had sent him out here; standing barefoot on the cold deck, blinking at the coming dawn and hoping to hell the memory of the dream would fade before the next night approached.

 _Enough. Think about something else._ He took a deep breath in; slowly let it out. Brought up his hand and rubbed it through his hair, before leaning back with folded arms on the rail. Waited for morning to come, watching the dark sea.


	7. Heavy Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm hits the Going Merry.

_In this bed the nightmares creep  
_ _Out of the arms of sudden sleep._

-       _Arthur Symons_

 

\-----

 

At breakfast Sanji kept a discreet watch from the corner of his eye for Zoro to come in. The swordsman appeared and sat down with his nakama, saying nothing except a perfunctory grunt in response to any morning greetings directed towards him. When Sanji set a plateful of food in front of him, Zoro didn’t look up: merely picked up his fork and set to, one elbow propped on the table. Normally Sanji wouldn’t let those kind of bad manners pass, but something about the set of Zoro’s shoulders warned him off direct attack. He directed his attention at his other nakama instead, deciding not to let whatever mood Zoro was evidently nursing impact on his own day.

“Mmhh, that’s good. Any more omelettes left?” demanded Luffy.

Sanji reached for another couple of eggs. “There could be. Anyone else want seconds?” There was a chorus of general requests, to which Sanji smiled. “More omelettes coming up.”

“Better eat a good breakfast,” said Nami, steepling her fingers as she looked around the table. “The weather’s going to change… We’re going to have a big blow before the day’s out. So we better get busy after breakfast fixing up the rigging and sails. We haven’t done that in a while, some of it is bound to need repairing or replacing.” Groans and protests greeted her announcement. “Hey, don’t blame me. You should be glad you get a warning of what’s coming. It’d be pretty bad trying to fix broken rigging in a storm, so show a little gratitude.”

“How severe a storm is it going to be?” asked Chopper, his eyes apprehensive.

“Not dangerous… But rough enough that we’ll all be busy for a while.”

Usopp leaned back in his chair. “I’ll look out the tools and spare rope, if Chopper helps me. And some canvas – there’s a tear in the lateen sail that needs repairing.”

“I could sew that up!” declared Luffy.

“No you couldn’t.” Several of the Mugiwara answered him simultaneously, mindful of Luffy’s staggering lack of skill where careful work was required.

“The rails need strengthening in a couple of places,” said Usopp quickly. “You could do that, Luffy – if I show you what needs doing.”

“Sure! Whatever.” Luffy nodded his agreement, attention already switching to where Sanji was folding a cooked omelette onto a plate.

“We really ought to lower the main yard and fix new tackles, if we can,” mused Usopp. “The old ones have about had it. That’ll be a big job, though – it’ll take a few hours, then we’ll have to get it hoisted back up and re-rigged before the storm reaches us.”

“I’ll do it.” Zoro spoke up, pushing his plate away.

Usopp nodded gratefully. “It’ll need a couple of us to manhandle it - ”

“I can manage.” Zoro shrugged. “If I need help, I’ll ask for it.”

“We ought to check the storeroom too, make sure everything’s stowed securely and battened down.” Nami tapped one finger on the table. “The last thing we need is for things to start sliding around, throwing the ship out of true. It’ll be hard enough to steer a course in the storm as it is.”

“I’ll take a look,” offered Robin. “And if there’s anything I need help with securing, I’ll come and find one of you to lend a hand.”

Sanji set a perfectly-cooked omelette in front of her, with a courtly bow. “Consider me at your disposal, ladies. I’ll make something simple that’ll do for both lunch and supper; then my time is yours.”

 

 

 

The day passed quickly enough, with the crew turning to the task of making the Going Merry as ready as possible to weather the storm. Helping Robin to secure cargo in the storeroom only took a couple of hours: Sanji turned his attentions to helping out on deck, assisting Chopper with repairing and rehoisting the lateen sail.

They were almost done when the weather began to turn. Sanji noticed the change in the ship’s motion first. The Going Merry began to pitch a little more, and to roll slightly as the swell grew bigger. He looked up from tying off a rope to see the sky had changed to a sullen grey, the sea spread beneath it in an uneasy dark green. “Huh… Looks like Nami was right. That storm’s on its way.”

Chopper peered over the rail too. “Oogh. I hope it doesn’t get too rough. That swell already feels pretty big.”

“Yeah, we’re rolling pretty good in it.” Sanji looked towards the mainmast. “That crap swordsman better have got the mainsail back up and rigged. We’re screwed if we can’t use that to keep some decent headway on the ship – without it the storm’ll pretty much throw us all over the place.”

“Maybe we should go and see if he needs a hand,” suggested Chopper. “We’re done here, aren’t we?”

When they descended from the stern to the main deck, the Going Merry’s main sail was in fact hoisted up into its rightful place, although Zoro was still high up in the ratlines working on the rigging. Sanji watched him for a few moments, frowning against the rising wind that was whipping his hair across his eyes. “Oi, marimo! Aren’t you done yet?”

Zoro’s only response to Sanji’s yell was to lift one hand from the ratlines – leaving him attached only by his legs wound and braced through the ropes – and to make a dismissive gesture. Sanji saw the swordsman’s other hand was hauling on a rope, while a second rope was clenched in his teeth.

“Looks like he might need some help,” ventured Chopper, although his tone suggested he was not enthusiastic at the prospect.

“Yeah.” Sanji glanced at the little reindeer, then gave a wry smile. “I’ll go. You better see if anything else needs lashing down before the storm hits.”

Chopper headed off across the deck, relief evident on his face. Sanji paused to slip off his shoes and wedge them into a corner, before heading for the ratlines and climbing barefoot until he reached the heights where Zoro was still working on the rigging. Alerted to his crewmate’s presence by the movement below him, Zoro paused and looked down: favoured Sanji with a scowl. “What do you want?”

“I’ve come to give you a hand. If we don’t get a move on, this storm’s going to be right on top of us.”

“I can manage.”

“You want to get blown out of the rigging, craphead? Be my guest. But I’d rather we get the mainsail fixed up first, so the rest of us can steer the ship.”

“I’m almost done, anyhow.” Zoro tugged a knot into place with what seemed like unnecessary force. “You’ll just get in the way.”

“There’s plenty of room up here for two of us, if you just shift your musclebound carcass over a little. And two pairs of hands will get the job done quicker.” Sanji saw the swordsman open his mouth again as if to argue, but he wasn’t going to get into a debate about it. “Move over. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can both get back down on deck.”

Zoro said nothing more, but shifted over on the ratlines with ill grace. They worked silently but swiftly, both familiar enough with the ship’s rigging to get the job done efficiently. They were hampered however by the wind which continued to rise, and the increasing motion of the ship. Sanji had good sea legs – a prerequisite for a ship’s cook – but after a while even he started to find the swaying of the mast top somewhat challenging. Like Zoro, he wound his legs through the ratlines, keeping himself secured while reaching out to thread tackle and knot ropes: the wind began to pluck at his shirt, gusting hard.

“I’m done.” Zoro slid back from where he’d been precariously leaning out towards the mainsail yard. Sanji ran his eye carefully over the rigging he’d been working on. “Yeah, me too. Let’s get the hell down.”

Nami was waiting for them when they regained the deck. “Just in time. The storm’s really coming in, now.”

“Well, we’ve made the ship as ready as she can be,” said Sanji. “Guess we’ll just have to ride it out, like we usually do.”

“We better double up on watch,” responded Nami. “It’ll be a hell of a night… And tomorrow isn’t going to be any better.”

 

 

 

 

Nami’s prophecy was accurate. By nightfall the storm had swept over the Going Merry with seas that rose and crashed over the ship’s bows and rails, setting the deck awash and making those on watch resort to clinging onto the weather lines that they had stretched along the ship as a safety precaution. Keeping the sails trimmed and the ship running before the weather proved an exhausting task, and even when not on watch and trying to sleep in the lurching, creaking darkness below decks no-one got much rest.

The morning came with murky grey skies, but little slackening of the winds. Squalls of rain came and went throughout the day, and by the second nightfall of the storm most of the Mugiwara were exhausted. In the galley Sanji dished up generous bowls of spicy soup and dumplings, accompanied by a mammoth pot of heavily sweetened chai to try to revive his nakama’s flagging energy and spirits.

“Ohh… Listen to it. It’s still blowing a gale out there,” groaned Usopp, holding his bowl of soup steady with one hand while plying his spoon with the other.  “How much longer is this damn storm going to last?”

“We should pass through the tail-end of it sometime tonight,” predicted Nami, nursing her mug of chai against her chest. “Hopefully by tomorrow, the winds will have slackened off.”

“Here’s hoping,” said Robin, face stretching in a yawn. Her wrist bore a bandage, a sprain courtesy of being pitched down a ladder in a violent lurch of the ship. She was not the only crew member sporting injuries: Nami herself had a bruise on her cheek from a collision with a doorway on her way through; Sanji had a scalded hand where the challenges of cooking soup in a pitching galley had temporarily got the better of him; and everyone bore assorted cuts, bruises and rope burns from grappling with the ship in the extreme weather.

“Do we need to double up on watch again tonight?” asked Luffy groggily, almost asleep in his soup bowl.

“Well… With the winds easing, it’ll probably be okay just with one person on watch.” Nami shrugged.

“We all need to get some rest,” piped up Chopper. “There have been enough slips and falls and injuries: everyone should try to get some decent sleep, or one of us could have a serious accident.”

“Huh. Every time I tried to get to sleep last night I woke up on the floor,” remarked Usopp.

“It won’t be as bad tonight,” Nami assured them. “You can already feeling it easing up a little.”

“Maybe _you_ can,” Usopp retorted snarkily. “The rest of us don’t have an internal barometer.”

“Oi, mind your manners, long-nose.” Sanji gave him a slap across the top of the head. “Don’t be rude to Nami, or you can eat your supper out on deck.”

Usopp buried his face in his soup bowl. “I abjectly beg your pardon, Nami. I’m sure that the storm is definitely departing, just as you say.”

“Is there any coffee?” demanded Zoro, setting his own soup bowl down, empty.

Sanji gave him a look from under one raised brow. “There’s chai. I didn’t make coffee.”

Zoro pulled a face. “That stuff’s too sweet to drink. I want coffee.”

“Then make it yourself.”

“All right.” Zoro got up and moved to the stove, adjusting his steps to the still-unsteady motion of the ship. Sanji watched him narrowly, mindful of the unfortunate possibilities of Zoro on the loose in his kitchen.

“I’ll have some more chai,” said Robin, holding out her mug. “It’s delicious.”

“Thank you, Robin-chwan.” Sanji abandoned his surveillance of the marimo to turn a beaming smile on his dark-haired crewmate, rising and ladling out a generous mugful of chai into her waiting cup.

“What do you put into it?” inquired Chopper interestedly, one professional to another. “I can taste ginger in there… And cinnamon?”

“Fresh ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, a few cloves, ground cardamom, star anise… and a little black pepper.” Sanji sat down and pulled out his cigarettes. “The trick is to get the balance of the spices right. I bring it to a simmer with a good tea, then leave it to stand a couple of hours to infuse. Then I warm it through again and add the milk, and a little honey.”

“Mmm…” Nami took a sip of her own drink, letting out a sigh. “I can feel it warming me up, that’s for sure. I’m going to finish this, then go to bed.”

“So... Who’s taking first night watch?” asked Usopp, in tones that suggested he hoped it wasn’t going to be him.

“I will.” Zoro spoke from over by the stove, standing with arms folded as he watched the kettle heating up on the stove. “Once I’ve made some coffee, I’ll head out.”

No-one made any attempt to refuse his offer. After a moment’s slightly guilty silence, there was a general chorus of mumbles from around the table, on a general theme of “OK”, “Thanks, Zoro”, interspersed with unrestrained yawning. After that, the nakama soon drifted off their separate ways to bed; Zoro headed outside with a steaming mug of coffee; and Sanji washed up and set the galley to rights.

 

When Sanji stepped out on deck to go to bed himself, the storm struck at him with all its wet wild force after the snugness of the kitchen. Pulling his jacket close he carefully negotiated the steps and headed for the hatch down to the men’s quarters, grateful that at least the deck wasn’t as awash as it had been earlier.

Once below he headed straight for his hammock, shedding only his shoes and jacket which had got wet during his journey. He pulled a blanket up over himself and lay back in the darkness. The sounds of his nakama’s snoring was almost drowned out by the creaking and groaning of the ship and the roar of the weather and waves.

_Well, at least Nami said it should blow over by tomorrow morning._ With that comforting thought, Sanji pulled his blanket up over his head to try to block out the worst of the noise, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

 

 

 

 

“Oi, Sanji! Aren’t you ever going to wake up? It’s breakfast time.”

Sanji went from peaceful slumber to bleary wakefulness in the space of half a second, assaulted by the insistent tones of his captain about an inch from his ear. “Mhuh… Crap…”

“The storm’s gone, the sun’s up.” Luffy still spoke loudly, as if fearful that Sanji might slip back to sleep unless properly encouraged. “The sea’s still rough but it’s already much better than it was. And I’m hungry!”

“Yeah… Give me a minute.” Sanji groped his way upright, blinking at the new day that had been forced upon him.

“I was dreaming about ham and eggs,” Luffy informed him hopefully.

“Sounds great.” Sanji swung himself out of his hammock. “Now get the hell out of my face until I’ve had my first cigarette.”

 

One cigarette and a brew of coffee later, Sanji set about preparing breakfast. He was finishing up cooking and setting the table when the galley door opened and Zoro walked in. He gave the cook a nod as he headed to the table and sat down. Sanji gave him an assessing look: the swordsman was tousled and grubby, his green hair spiked wildly by wind and salt spray. He looked utterly wiped out, his eyes heavy. Sanji decided to play friendly. “Breakfast’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“Good.” Zoro sat slumped in his chair as though he never intended to move again. “There any coffee?”

“Fresh brewed.” Sanji reached for the pot and set it on the table, with a clean mug. “Though you look more like you could use some sleep, rather than coffee.”

Zoro grunted, pouring himself a mugful. “I plan to get some, after I eat breakfast.”

“Rough night?”

“Storm blew itself out a couple of hours before dawn. But there were still a lot of big seas coming in. It got easier once it got light, though.”

Sanji paused at the stove. “You took the whole night watch? On your own?”

“Yeah.” Zoro blew on his coffee, then took a huge gulp.

“Why didn’t you come get one of us, to swap over midway through?”

Zoro shrugged. “Everyone was asleep.”

“Well, duh. Of course we were… But that doesn’t mean you couldn’t have come and woken one of us up.”

“No need.” Zoro shook his head. “I was okay taking watch on my own. And everyone was tired, so I figured I’d let you rest.”

Sanji regarded him. “No wonder you look beat. You going to be able to stay awake for breakfast, or are we going to have to fish you out of your plate when you fall asleep in the middle of eating?”

“Just dish up breakfast, cook, and I’ll eat it.” Zoro gave him a look from under lowered brows. Sanji said nothing more, turning back to his stove.

 

 

 

In the wake of the storm the weather quickly cleared. A few things had been dislodged or battered by wind or waves and needed setting to rights, but life aboard soon resumed its fair-weather rhythms. Coffee and a sizeable breakfast had temporarily restored Zoro’s energy, but after doing his share of the storm repairs he took himself up onto the aft deck and lay down, arms folded under his head. Weariness was making his eyelids heavy: he needed sleep, and he intended to get a solid few hours of it, his unruly nakama permitting.

As he lay there with his eyes closed he could hear the soft sounds of the wind ruffling Nami’s tangerine trees; the flap of Going Merry’s sail; the plash of the still-ruffled sea. It was soothing, as was the feel of the sun through his shirt, after the long cold hours of wind and rain during the storm.

There was always the chance that someone would wake him, sleeping here; but he felt no inclination to go below to his hammock. Napping on deck was something Zoro was good at. And at some level he was aware of a curious reluctance to sink into a deep sleep… because with deep sleep, there was always the chance of dreaming. He settled his shoulders more comfortably against the deck, let out a long breath and let the sounds of the ship and the sea gently lull him into slumber.

 

 

“Where’s Zoro?” Sanji cast his eye at the empty place – yet _again_ – at the table.

“Sleeping aft.” Nami gestured with one thumb. “When I went to check on the trees he was sprawled out on the deck, snoring like a buzz saw.”

Sanji clicked his tongue in irritation. “I told that craphead not to turn up late for any more meals. This time Luffy gets his lunch.”

“Woo-hoo!” Luffy looked up happily.

“Maybe he needs the sleep more than lunch,” Robin suggested. “He did look rather tired this morning.”

“Whatever.” Sanji slid Zoro’s portion onto Luffy’s eagerly held-out plate, before sitting down to his own meal.

Robin smiled at him. “I’m sure it’s no reflection on your food, cook-san. It’s as delicious as ever.”

Sanji beamed back at her, his mood sweetening. “Thank you, Robin-chwan. It’s always a pleasure to cook for one so lovely. Not to mention, appreciative. Allow me to serve you with a morsel or two more.”

“I have plenty, but thank you,” Robin responded.

“I appreciate your cooking!” declared Luffy, enthusiastically shoving his plate under Sanji’s nose. “Give me some more morsels!”

“Finish what you have on your plate and learn some good manners, idiot!” Sanji whacked his captain hard on the head with the nearest thing to hand, which happened to be a wooden serving spoon. Luffy subsided, then resumed stuffing food into his mouth with a haste that suggested he had hopes that a clean plate might be rewarded with a refill.

 

 

 

Zoro woke mid-afternoon with a stiff neck and a dry mouth, but otherwise feeling a good deal better. A few hours of training took care of the stiffness, while the dry mouth was remedied by swiping a bottle of wine from the galley when Sanji was busy chatting with Nami and Robin on the foredeck.

After supper, Zoro was about to head outside when Sanji’s voice followed him. “Oi. I need a hand with the washing up.”

Zoro turned back, frowning a little. This was the cook’s usual ploy when he thought one of the crew had transgressed some piece of kitchen or dining etiquette: a penance of sorts. As he stepped towards the sink, Sanji held out a dish towel. “I’ll wash. You wipe.”

Zoro grunted; waited for the first wet plate to be held out to him; took it. As Sanji sank the next plate into the hot soapy water, the cook said noncommittally, “You missed lunch.”

“Mhm.” Zoro shrugged. “Slept through it, I guess.”

“I figured.” Sanji handed him the next plate. “Luffy got your share.”

“Eh, well…” The corner of Zoro’s mouth lifted into a wry smile. “Then it didn’t go to waste.”

“No food on this ship goes to waste.” Sanji’s tone grew a little more clipped. “But a certain marimo might find his share gets smaller, if he disrespects the cook by continuing not to show up for meals.”

“I get the message.” Zoro stacked a dry plate away; reached for the next wet one.

“Good.”

 

 

 

Chores done, the crew of the Going Merry settled down for the night. Below decks in the men’s quarters Sanji swung himself up into his hammock, settling back comfortably. His eye fell on Zoro: the swordsman was sitting on the couch, gazing into the middle distance. Evidently halfway through preparing to go to sleep he was barefoot, swords stacked neatly on one side; scratching slowly and meditatively at the palm of his left hand.

“Oi, marimo. Put the lamp out.” Sanji knew from experience that the swordsman often fell asleep on the couch, sometimes still sitting up. Zoro blinked; glanced at the cook, then rose from the couch. He turned out the lamp and moved to his hammock in the darkness, sure-footed in the familiar space.

Lying there under his blanket, Zoro listened to his nakama around him. Usopp already snoring loud; Luffy muttering in his sleep; Sanji’s quiet slow breathing. Chopper was on first night watch with the ship quieter than it had been, the sea finally settling. Despite having slept during the day, Zoro felt drowsiness quickly creeping over him again. Well, that was fair enough: they’d had a crazy couple of days and nights with the storm. He let out a long, jaw-cracking yawn, before giving himself up to sleep.

 

 

_He was in front of the scaffold in Loguetown, fighting his way forward, katana cleaving a way through the men trying to block him. Looking up to where Buggy stood over the kneeling Luffy; at the sword lifted high in Buggy’s hand, ready to sweep down and end it all. Zoro pushed forwards; a few yards away Sanji was doing the same, both of them trying to force their way through the crowd to reach the scaffold, to bring it down. And then he heard Luffy’s voice._

_“Sorry. I’m a goner.” And unbelievably, as the sword started to fall, Luffy laughing._

_There were still yards between Zoro and the scaffold, Buggy’s blade slicing down. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Luffy saved his life, and now all he could do was shout uselessly as the deadly blow fell._

_“NO!”_

_And this was when the storm came. This was when the bolt of lightning struck, turned Buggy’s sword aside. He remembered it happening._

_But no lightning came. The blade in Buggy’s hand fell all the way. Zoro heard the sound of it meeting Luffy’s neck, with a sound that would stay with him forever -_

_\- and Luffy’s head dropped away._

_“LUFFY!”_

_Time stopped: the world was suddenly wrong._

_Buggy lifted his sword triumphantly and its blade was bloody: his usual clown’s grin was stretched wider than ever in maniacal glee. And what had been Luffy fell like an old sack, a streak of blood dark on the scaffold._

_A blow on his swords jolted Zoro where he stood, rooted motionless, eyes still fixed on where his captain, his nakama, lay dead. Reflexes kicked in and he was fighting again, but this time with a blind screaming fury, a raging pain that filled his chest and drove him wildly into the men before him. The wrongness of it made him unsteady: his feet slipped on the bloody flagstones of the square beneath his feet. Somewhere not far away he heard Sanji yelling, screaming. Zoro slipped again and went down on one knee, sick to his stomach and not knowing what there was to fight for any more._

_Which was when a blade hacked into his side, slicing deep below his ribs. He wrenched sideways, staggering back to his feet, bringing his katana up. Around him the press of men closed in, grinning: they smelled blood. Zoro swept aside the first sword that swung at him, blocked a second: but the weight of the attack rolled over him like a tide and he went down and the blades found him from every side_

 

And then he was awake and all around him were the sounds of Usopp’s noisy snoring; Sanji’s quieter breathing. And Luffy, turning over and mumbling in his sleep.

This time Zoro lay for some time in his hammock in the dark, staring up at nothingness. The sick feel of the dream clung like fog, failing to disperse upon waking. His body twitched at the memory of the swords piercing him; at the remembrance of how he had lost the will to fight.

At the sound of Buggy’s blade as it struck home.

_I failed him -_

Even as the thought came, he resisted it. _It didn’t happen that way. Luffy didn’t die. The lightning came, we all survived._

Yet his hands were clenched into fists: he could still see the scaffold, with its dark smear of blood. Blinking against the darkness, he lay in his hammock and listened to his nakama breathing their way through the long hours of the night.

 

 

 

 

 

Nami made a careful mark on her chart, adding a precise notation beside it. A shadow fell over the paper, blocking out the late afternoon sunshine: she twisted around and frowned up at the silhouetted figure behind her. “Hey, Zoro! Move it, you’re in my light.”

He shifted sideways, stepping away across the foredeck. Nami continued her careful work, muttering, “Damn great swordsman cluttering up the place…”

Zoro walked away towards the prow of the Going Merry. Luffy was in his customary place on the figurehead, gazing out happily at the sea. Zoro took station beside him, leaning on the rail with folded arms. Normally he wouldn’t seek out their chaotic captain’s company, but today he’d felt a need to just… be around Luffy.

“Ehi, Zoro.” Luffy spoke cheerfully. “I saw dolphins just now.”

“Dolphins, huh?”

“They’re so cool.” Luffy sighed, then smacked his lips. “And they taste so good!”

Zoro smiled. “You plan on fishing for dolphins? Good luck with that. Just don’t fall in.”

“Noooo…” Luffy shook his head, “I’m too comfortable here for fishing.” He wriggled luxuriously on the figurehead.

“Don’t get too comfortable.” Nami’s voice reached them from where she was still working on her chart. “It’ll be suppertime soon, and then you’re on first night watch.”

“Am I?” Luffy pouted. “It’s not my turn.”

“Yes, it is.” Nami spoke firmly.

“I’m the captain!” stated Luffy, assertively. “Captains shouldn’t have to take watch!”

“Or help with making sail, or do the chores, or do pretty much anything except sleep, fish and eat,” Nami commented dryly. “I know what your ideas are, of what a captain should do. But tough luck: everyone on this ship does their fair share. That means you too, Luffy.”

Luffy pouted. “Nami, you’re mean.”

“Want me to tell Sanji you’ve been mouthing off at me?” Nami bent over her chart complacently. “I bet you’ll get no supper.”

“Ahh!” Luffy sat bolt upright on the figurehead, stricken at the thought of the famine that would ensue. His sudden movement nearly pitched him off into the sea: Zoro gripped him by one foot. “Watch out, idiot!”

“Nami, don’t say anything to Sanji! I’ll work! I’ll work really hard!”

Nami glanced up briefly, a smug smile on her face. “Okay. I won’t say anything. Unless I hear one more complaint out of you about standing watch.” She returned her attention to her work.

“Ehh…” Luffy slumped on the figurehead. “That was a close one.”

“You don’t want to stand night watch? I’ll do it.” Zoro spoke quietly, so that Nami wouldn’t hear.

Luffy shot a wary glance towards their navigator, then looked back at Zoro. “Really?” He spoke in similarly low tones.

“Sure.” Zoro shrugged. “I don’t mind taking night watch. I can sleep just as easy in the daytime.”

It took Luffy a nanosecond to decide to accept the offer. “Okay. Thanks!”

“No problem. Just keep quiet about it, in case Nami finds out.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure!” Luffy gave a conspiratorial wink. "I can keep a secret."


	8. Face Up To The Facts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoro thinks that he’s come up with a solution to his problem… But his nakama are starting to notice there’s something amiss.

_I can’t seem to face up to the facts_  
 _I’m tense and nervous and I can’t relax_  
 _I can’t sleep ‘cause my bed’s on fire  
_ _Don’t touch me, I’m a real live wire_

_\- Talking Heads_

 

\-----

 

It was a simple strategy. Zoro liked simple. So he’d had a few bad dreams: well, there was an easy way to solve that problem. The dreams only seemed to come when he slept at night. So it was simple: quit sleeping at night for a while. He could catch up in the daytime, napping on deck. And sooner or later, the dreams would cease. It was a question of training his mind, just as he trained his body.

Persuading some of his other crewmates to swap their night watches proved gratifyingly easy. Usopp needed little encouragement; Chopper was similarly accommodating. Within a couple of days, Zoro had managed to work it so he could pull either one night watch or the whole night on deck, four nights out of seven.

The remaining nights below were still difficult. He lay awake in his hammock long after the snoring of his nakama signalled their escape into peaceful sleep: tried to send his mind into peaceful places, or failing that, into nothingness.

But always, sometime after midnight, he would fall asleep himself. Straight into the realms of the dark dreams, which swallowed him as though he’d never left. Dreams where he was always fighting: against enemies he knew, or those he had never seen before. Against a single opponent, a score of warriors, or a countless crowd. In a dusty street or a humid green jungle; on a narrow bridge, or on the deck of the Going Merry. Fighting with his nakama, watching his friends cut down to die in front of him; or fighting alone. The dreams always changed, were always different. The only thing that never varied was that he never won.

Sometimes his swords shattered. Sometimes they transformed in his hands into useless pieces of wood, or into fire, or writhing snakes. Sometimes the ground held his feet, rooted him to the spot; sometimes the strength left him so that he could not even lift his katana. And each battle ended in defeat and death. Sleep at night had become a walk in a dark room full of blades, a contest with enemies who could appear and disappear at will. He was never fast enough, never strong enough to beat whatever came at him. His strongest blows were turned aside.

 

The night watches he took were a welcome distraction. The only tricky part was keeping the fact that he was trading watches with three of his crewmates concealed from his nakama as a whole. He wasn’t sure why this was important: after all, as long as watch was kept, theoretically it didn’t matter who took watch when. But the one thing Zoro didn’t want was questions about why he was doing it.

The other thing that was somewhat challenging was finding somewhere reasonably undisturbed to catch up on his sleep in the daytime. He’d always napped on deck: and amongst the Mugiwara, Zoro’s notorious ability to sleep through anything ranging from storms to full-blown battle was often the subject of his nakama’s jokes (or occasionally, their ire). But for some reason, sleeping on deck didn’t seem to quite substitute for the nights of sleep he was missing. He would settle down for a determined doze in the shade, only to be rudely awakened after too short a time by Nami demanding that he come and help fix the main sail, or Usopp falling over him during a particularly hectic game of something inane with Chopper and Luffy. And if it wasn’t those idiots, it was the shitty cook kicking him awake and telling him to lend a hand with shifting something in the storeroom. Zoro had never found his nakama so irritating before.

Still, he was dreaming less, which was good. Being a little tired was a small price to pay; and anyway, it was only short term. Soon he would get his brain out of the habit of having those troublesome dreams, and he could go back to sleeping most nights in his hammock again. In the meantime he watched the stars wheeling through the sky on night watch; dozed when he could on the sunny deck; and trained until his muscles ached.

 

 

 

 

 

Nearly a week had passed since the storm. The weather, as Nami had predicted, stayed more or less fine; however the winds proved more fickle. After a day of tacking in capricious breezes, the Going Merry’s progress fell off considerably. Checking her chart spread out on the table in the galley one evening, Nami rolled it up with a sigh. “Oh, well. There goes our favourable wind.”

“Problem?” asked Robin.

“No… Just, with the wind coming from the quarter it’s in now, it’ll take us longer to reach the next island. Maybe another three weeks.”

“Perhaps the wind will change again, in our favour,” suggested Robin, taking a sip from her cup of tea.

“I don’t think so.” Nami picked up her own cup. “I have a feeling that this is the weather we’re going to have bringing us in. But no more storms, at least. I’m pretty sure of that.”

“Well, that’s good enough news for me,” commented Sanji, setting a dish of honey biscuits on the table between the two women. “And three weeks isn’t so bad. I’ve checked stores today, and we’re not running short of anything. There’s plenty of water too.”

“Good.” Nami reached for a biscuit and bit into one crisply. “Mmm... I’ll keep an eye on the weather, but unless anything changes, four weeks at the outside should see us make landfall.”

 

 

 

Up on the aft deck behind the cabin, Zoro moved through one of his santoryu routines. A footstep behind him made him pause, lowering his katana and looking around: Usopp stood there, holding two buckets. The sharpshooter gave a placatory grin. “Ehi, don’t mind me. I’m just taking some water up to Nami’s mikan trees.” He lifted the buckets slightly to demonstrate, spilling a splash of water onto the deck.

Zoro grunted. “Whatever.” He turned away and resumed his routine, trying to refocus the concentration he’d been building up painstakingly. His katana sliced through the air precisely, but slowly: he was deliberately doing the routine at half speed, trying to spot ways in which he could improve it. Above him from the cabin roof came the sounds of Usopp singing cheerfully while he watered the tangerine grove, interspersed with occasional chatter. Zoro ignored it, familiar with Usopp’s tendency to talk to inanimate objects. He bent his attention closer on the movements he was making, on the path of each blade. Maybe if he shifted his weight a little further back on that last move… He took a step backwards – and his foot found the planking slippery with water. Zoro skidded, threw out one arm to rescue his balance and felt Kitetsu’s blade hit something metal with a _clang_ and a spit of sparks. “Kuso!”

“Wahh!” Usopp’s cry of alarm rang out almost simultaneously. Zoro managed to steady himself and turn around: Usopp was sprawled at the foot of the steps down from the cabin, evidently having ducked down there at Zoro’s wild swing. “You nearly took my head off!”

“Idiot. I wasn’t even close.” Zoro shook his head, then brought Kitetsu up in front of his face and checked the sword. There was a nick in the blade, marring its fine edge. Zoro scowled and his eye fell on the iron ringbolt in the ship’s woodwork that had done the damage. “Damn it…”

“Yabai… It felt close enough to me.” Usopp got up, retrieving his now-empty buckets.

“It was your fault, anyhow.” Zoro jerked his thumb at the puddle of water on the deck. “If you hadn’t been slopping water around, I wouldn’t have stepped in it and slipped. You’re lucky I didn’t cut that stupid long nose of yours off.”

Usopp paled. “Oi, no need to get nasty.”

“Make yourself scarce.” Zoro fixed him with a look from under lowered brows. “Thanks to you, I’ve got a sword to fix.”

 

Fetching his whetstone and cleaning kit, Zoro returned to the aft deck and sat down to take a closer look at the sword. Kitetsu wasn’t badly damaged but its collision with the ship’s ironwork had notched its otherwise sharp edge: Zoro had to work carefully with the whetstone to restore the blade back to what it should be.

He finished sharpening and polishing and started anointing the katana with choji oil. His eye roamed along the hamon of the blade, blue-silver flames catching the evening light. Zoro had seen a lot of swords in his lifetime, and each was as different as a human face. Each had its particular character, its distinctive appearance, its unique qualities. Like Kitetsu, for instance. Sandai Kitetsu was a fine sword, no doubt about it: he was glad to have it as one of his own. But it was a tricky customer. It sometimes had a will of its own, and as someone who had a strong will himself Zoro was not entirely comfortable with that. Kitetsu had to be handled firmly, and treated with respect. Otherwise the katana’s darker nature could assert itself. He’d felt that nature, even when the katana had been buried in a tub of bargain swords in the shop in Loguetown. He could feel Kitetsu even when he couldn’t see it. Even with his eyes shut.

As he had this thought, he felt a slice of pain between the thumb and finger of his right hand: opened his eyes wide with a jolt and stared at Kitetsu and the cloth he’d been wiping the oil on with. As he looked, blood bloomed on the cloth and began to spread.

“Shit!” Zoro took his right hand away from the sword quickly, dropping the cloth onto the deck. As he lifted his hand before his face he saw that he’d cut himself: a deep slash in the web of flesh where forefinger and thumb joined. A cut that was now bleeding profusely, letting fat drops fall onto the planking of the deck.

“Fuck…” Zoro held his right hand away from him, trying not to bleed on himself or his katana. Deliberately he slid Kitetsu back into its saya, propping it with his other two swords. Then he picked up the oily cloth again and wrapped it roughly around the cut, pressing his thumb and finger together to try to slow the bleeding. That done, he picked up his swords and headed down the steps to the lower deck, in search of Chopper.

 

He found the little reindeer, conveniently alone below deck in the storeroom. Zoro unceremoniously held out his hand with the bloody rag wrapped around it. “Hey, Chopper. I need this bandaging up properly.”

Chopper peered up from his pestle and mortar, where he’d evidently been working on creating some new medical concoction. “Yada! You’re bleeding!”

Zoro rolled his eyes. “Full marks for observation. Yeah, I cut myself. I’d bind it up myself but it’s awkward to do one-handed.”

Chopper reached out and gingerly unwound the rag, wrinkling his nose slightly. “Well, putting this filthy cloth around it won’t have helped much.” He uncovered the wound and inspected it carefully. “Hmm… That’s a nasty cut. I don’t think it needs stitching, but I’ll clean it and bind it up. How did you do it?”

“I was sharpening my katana.” Zoro answered without thinking. Then felt a pause. Looking up, he saw the expression of surprise on Chopper’s face. Zoro cursed himself inwardly. “It was just a slip.”

“O, an accident? Yes, of course.” Chopper, sensing the swordsman’s embarrassment, turned away and busily started getting together the things he needed to treat the cut. “I’m only surprised you don’t cut yourself more often.”

The cut was soon cleaned and bandaged, with Chopper saying nothing more. Once the little doctor had fastened the ends of the linen bandage, Zoro took his hand away and stood up. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Chopper began collecting his medical paraphernalia together. “If it gets infected, tell me and I’ll take another look at it. But I think it should heal up fine.”

 

 

 

 

Sanji was sitting at the galley table, pleasantly leafing through an ancient recipe book he had yet to tire of, when the door creaked open and Zoro strolled in. “There any coffee?”

“Some left on the stove.” Sanji gestured with his thumb, after a cursory glance at the swordsman. He heard Zoro cross the room; the clink of a mug against the coffeepot’s spout; a loud swallow, then another; then the _glug_ of the mug being refilled. Sanji marked his place in the book with one finger and twisted around in his chair, regarding the swordsman. “You plan on leaving any of that for someone else?”

Zoro set the coffeepot down, with an empty-sounding _clunk_. “There wasn’t much left.”

“Not now, certainly.” Sanji gave a half-shake of his head and returned to his recipe book. “You’ve been drinking coffee lately like it’s been going out of fashion. I’ll have to restock when we next hit port.”

“So?”

“So, nothing. You want to max out on caffeine, go ahead. It’s cheaper than sake.” The corner of Sanji’s mouth lifted in a smirk.

Zoro said nothing more: after a moment, Sanji heard him cross the galley and leave, the door thudding shut behind him. Sanji raised one eyebrow, poring over the recipe book. “As ever, a ray of sunshine.”

 

A little while later, Sanji was about ready to call it a night and turn in below when the galley door opened a second time, admitting Chopper. The little reindeer reached the table and placed a chopping board upon it. “Thank you for the loan of this, Sanji. I’ve cleaned it well.”

“No problem.” Sanji took the chopping board, giving it a quick once-over: it was spotless. “Immaculate… Any time you want a job as sous chef in here, Chopper, you’re hired.”

“Hee hee…” Chopper flushed with pleasure. “I’m not a cook.”

“You have many of the same skills.” Sanji slid the chopping board neatly away on a shelf. “I’ve watched you work, when you’re making your potions and medicines. You have excellent knife and blending skills.”

“I couldn’t possibly be a chef!” Chopper was grinning with embarrassment now. “You pay me too high a compliment!”

“Well, I couldn’t possibly be a doctor. So that makes us even.” Sanji smiled at his crewmate. “You want a hot drink? I can make tea. There was coffee, but the marimo finished that off.”

“I don’t need tea, no need to trouble yourself - ”

“It’s no trouble at all.” Sanji raised a hand. “Sit down and I’ll make a pot. It’s good to drink something soothing and warm before going to bed. Unless you’re on watch tonight?”

“No… I don’t have to.” Chopper sat at the table. “Zoro swapped with me. So if you’re sure you don’t mind making me some tea, that would be good, thank you.”

“Zoro traded watches with you?” Sanji filled a kettle and put it on the stove. “That’s unusually nice of him. Watch out: there’s probably a catch.”

“I don’t think so.” Chopper shrugged. “He just said he wanted to take watch at night, and didn’t mind doing mine as well as his own.”

“Ah, well. Who can fathom the mysterious workings of the mosshead’s brain.” Sanji set two cups on the table; put three pinches of green tea in a teapot; waited for the kettle to heat, then filled the pot and brought it over to where Chopper sat.

Chopper took his steaming cup with a grateful nod. Taking a sip, he paused, before saying slowly, “Actually… This evening after supper… Zoro came and found me. Because he’d injured his hand.”

“O, is that why he had it bound up?” Sanji had seen the white linen wrapped around Zoro’s right hand. He felt a little surprised at Chopper telling him: usually, the little doctor preserved the strictest confidentiality about treating his nakama. “I wondered what the problem was.”

“He cut it.” Chopper hesitated, as if unsure about saying more, then continued. “He said, he cut it sharpening his sword.”

Sanji raised an eyebrow. “Sharpening his sword? _Zoro?_  And you believed him when he said that?”

Chopper shrugged helplessly. “Why would he lie about it?”

“Huh.” Sanji frowned. The idea of Zoro being careless enough with his katana to accidentally inflict damage on himself was… ridiculous. Which meant that the damn marimo _must_ have been less than truthful.

Except. Half-remembered images of Zoro from the past couple of weeks began clicking into Sanji’s mind, one after the other. Zoro breaking the wine bottle the night they slept in here, then slicing himself across the palm picking up the pieces. The swordsman knocking a mug of coffee from the galley table with his elbow one morning, then failing to catch it before it smashed on the deck. Nami throwing an apple at him and Zoro’s hand coming up to catch it just a fraction too late; the apple hitting him on the shoulder and dropping onto the floor.

 _Crap_. _There’s something going on with that idiot. I don’t know what, but something’s definitely… off._ He looked at Chopper. “What did he say, about how he did it?”

“Just that he was sharpening his sword, and his hand slipped.” Chopper looked at Sanji, a little worried frown on his face. “I didn’t like to ask him any more about it. I think he was a little embarrassed.”

 _I’ll bet._ Sanji leaned his folded arms on the table. “I guess our samurai warrior doesn’t like to admit he can screw up like the rest of us mere mortals.”

Chopper picked up his cup of green tea and took a sip. “Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced. Inwardly, Sanji wasn’t either.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“CAPTAIN OVERBOARD!”

The alarm cry was by no means an unusual one on the Going Merry, and it was usually quickly followed by two things: general rushing about on deck to fetch a rope, and Zoro diving over the rail to fish Luffy out.

Nami stared about the deck, wide-eyed: for once there was no sign of the swordsman. She dashed across the main deck – and spotted Zoro fast asleep at the foot of the steps that led up to the galley, oblivious to his crewmates’ panic. She ran up to him and delivered a swift kick in the ribs. “Hey! Wake up, idiot!”

“Rrhh - ” Zoro jerked awake with a roar, one arm flying up to block his attacker – then glared up at the navigator. “What the hell - ”

“Luffy’s fallen overboard! Shift your lazy carcass and get him!” Nami yelled, gesturing towards the starboard rail.

Zoro went from scowling immobility into swift movement in a fraction of a second, leaping and running across the deck in the direction she was pointing. He reached the rail and dived over it: seconds later, Nami was standing there along with Usopp, who had fetched a coil of rope. “Where are they?”

Chopper and Robin joined them. “We’ve dropped the anchor and reefed the sail,” Robin said. “Luckily we weren’t making much speed anyway.”

“There!” Usopp stabbed a pointing finger down at the waves fifty metres aft: Zoro visible in the water, stroking towards the ship with one arm and towing Luffy with the other.

“Drop them down a line,” instructed Nami. “We can pull them aboard.”

“What’s all the commotion?” Sanji joined his nakama at the rail. “I could hear you all from the galley.”

“Luffy fell overboard,” Chopper informed him soberly.

Sanji gave a nod, lighting a cigarette. “Ah? Then it must be a Tuesday.”

 

The two swimmers came up over the rail dripping with seawater. In Luffy’s case, gurgling noisily: he’d sunk quite a way before Zoro had dived down to retrieve him. A bit of skilful manipulation from Chopper produced the unpleasant but effective result of getting their captain to regurgitate most of what he’d swallowed. Unluckily, most of it splashed over Zoro’s bare feet.

“Aarghh!” Zoro stepped back rapidly. “Damn it - watch what you’re doing, you idiot! It’s not enough I have to fish you out, but you have to puke on my feet as well!”

“He can’t help it, Zoro!” Nami glared at him, her hands on her hips. “If you’d got to him quicker, he wouldn’t have swallowed so much seawater in the first place.”

“That devil fruit moron should know better than to sit on that damn figurehead. He’s always falling in – I’m sick of hauling him out.”

“It was an accident, you know that. And I practically had to kick you over the side – you were snoring your head off when we needed you, as usual.”

“Wake me up like that again and I’ll kick you over the side, witch.” Zoro took a step forward.

“Oi, oi!” Sanji moved swiftly, standing between the swordsman and Nami. “Watch your mouth, craphead! Don’t you dare talk that way to her. You want a lesson in manners? I’ll be the one doing the kicking, you’ll soon see!”

“Kisama…” Zoro glared at him.

“Let’s all calm down.” Robin spoke firmly, coming to stand beside Sanji. “Luffy is all right, Zoro rescued him. There’s no harm done. Zoro, why don’t you go and put on some dry clothes?”

Zoro’s angry gaze switched to her: Robin met it calmly, her eyes showing no intimidation from the swordsman’s glare. After a few seconds, Zoro turned and walked away across the deck, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind.

“Mannerless bastard…” growled Sanji around his cigarette. “Threatening a woman…”

 

“Ooughhh…” Sitting up on the deck, Luffy wiped seawater out of his eyes. “Why are you all standing around me?”

“You fell in again, Luffy.” Chopper patted him on the shoulder. “Do you feel okay now?”

“Bleghh…” Luffy held his stomach a moment. “The sea tastes awful.” His face brightened. “Maybe I should eat something, to take the taste away.” He looked up hopefully at Sanji.

“It’s lunchtime soon. You can hold out till then.” Sanji held out a hand and helped their soggy captain to his feet.

“But I feel weak after falling in the sea…” persisted Luffy, going for sympathy. “Some meat is what I need to restore my strength.”

“You should have thought of that before you went climbing on the figurehead!” snapped Nami, her face still slightly flushed after receiving Zoro’s outburst. “We should tie you on to it next time!” With that she turned on her heel and stomped away, her angry mutterings about the crazy crew she had to put up with clearly audible until she disappeared from view with the slam of the storeroom door.

“Yada… What did I do?” Luffy looked momentarily at a loss.

“Don’t worry. She’ll have forgiven you by this evening,” Sanji assured him. “Just stay out of her way until then.”

“Here’s your hat, Luffy.” Usopp handed it across: Luffy brightened on seeing his precious straw hat, and jammed it onto his head with a grin.

“Thanks!”

“Well, now all the excitement’s over…” Robin was smiling at Luffy’s quick recovery. “We’ll bring in the anchor and get under way again.” She and Usopp headed across the deck with Chopper, to set about getting the Going Merry moving forwards once more. Sanji was about to follow them, when Luffy’s voice called him back. “Ehi, Sanji. You think Nami will stay mad for long?”

“Probably not. Anyway, that outburst wasn’t all your fault. She was pissed at Zoro, too.”

“What for?” Luffy was attempting to wring seawater out of his clothes without taking them off, a less than successful process.

“For insulting her.” Sanji felt his own temper winding up a notch again at the recollection. “That crap swordsman called her a witch.”

“Masaka!” Luffy’s eyes widened, then he let out a hoot of laughter. “That Zoro, always kidding around.”

“Not so much.” Sanji clearly remembered Zoro’s sudden step towards Nami, the tensing of the swordsman’s shoulders. If it had been any other man, that body language would have signalled an imminent blow being lashed out in Nami’s direction… But that was unthinkable. Zoro sometimes fought women, but he’d never laid a finger on Nami. Not that Sanji would have let him get anywhere near being able to do that, in any case: he’d lay that crap swordsman out on the deck first. “He was in a pretty foul mood. And you throwing up over his feet didn’t help much.”

“Oops.” Luffy’s continuing cheerful grin didn’t lend much credence to his attempt at remorse. “I’ll say sorry. Otherwise he might not want to trade night watches with me any more.”

“Hmm?” Sanji had been turning away to go back to preparing lunch in the galley, when what Luffy had said caught his attention. He looked back at his captain. “You and Zoro have been trading night watches?”

“Sure.” Luffy finished wringing the last of the seawater out of his shirt. “He offered to take my watch last week, so we’ve been trading ever since. We didn’t tell Nami though,” he added quickly, with a conscious look towards the door where Nami had disappeared. “We, we didn’t want to – bother her!”

“I bet you didn’t.” Sanji narrowed his eyes, teeth clenching on his cigarette.

“You won’t tell her, will you, cook-san?” Luffy looked worried.

“Not right now.” Sanji shook his head. “But you better hope she doesn’t find out. Neither you or Zoro are in her good books right now.”

 

He left Luffy moping anxiously on the foredeck, returning to the galley where lunch still needed to be prepared, the distractions of his nakama notwithstanding. Sanji’s hands moved on automatic as he chopped and peeled, sautéed and stirred, seasoned and tasted. All the while, thoughts were moving busily through his mind.

_So that craphead’s traded night watches with Chopper and Luffy. And with who else, I wonder._

The swordsman’s increased taste for coffee was suddenly making a lot more sense. And maybe the other stuff too: the clumsiness; the all-too-evident irritability, even more so than Zoro’s usual short fuse.

 _Trust that idiot to come up with a way of making himself even harder to live with._ Sanji wondered momentarily what bizarre notion was behind this sleep deprivation routine, then elected not to waste effort in trying to figure it out. He’d long ago got wise to the fact that for the pursuit of his goal, Zoro was more than capable of doing things that rational human beings wouldn’t even consider. No doubt this was just another in a long series of feats of endurance that in Zoro’s warped mind made perfect sense.

 _First things first. Easier to tackle a problem when you know exactly what it is. So start with surveillance._ Sanji’s mouth set in a thin line of determination as he planned his campaign of attack.

 

 

 

That night Sanji went to his own hammock earlier than usual, having first taken the precaution of drinking the strongest brew of coffee he could stomach. It was late when Zoro finally turned in, well after his fellow crewmates. Sanji watched from under almost-closed eyelids as the swordsman kicked off his boots and killed the lamp; listened to the creak and rustle of Zoro swinging into his own hammock.

The coffee did its work well: for a long while Sanji was able to lie awake, sleep kept at bay. And all the time he lay wakeful he could hear the snoring of most of his nakama, peacefully slumbering as heavily as they always did. Except there was a missing note, one he knew very well.

It was too dark to see anything. But there were sounds that reached him: sounds of the hammock not far from his own creaking repeatedly as its owner tossed and turned. The rustling of a blanket. Once, a weary sigh. When the coffee’s effects finally wore off and Sanji felt himself dropping down into a doze, he had the uneasy sense that a few feet away in the darkness, the swordsman was still awake.

 

 

 

After a few days of discreet surveillance, what became clear to Sanji was that not only was Zoro trading night watches with Chopper, Luffy and Usopp as well as doing his own shifts; but that even when the swordsman spent a night in his hammock, he wasn’t sleeping much. Sanji also confirmed what he’d suspected: that the lack of sleep was not improving Zoro’s temper. The swordsman was setting new standards for taciturnity; if he did speak to his nakama it was invariably in surly monosyllables, or in brief but volcanic eruptions of irritation. After observing in a single day Chopper being reduced to a quivering heap, Robin being on the receiving end of a clipped put-down that made her blink, and Usopp being growled at after he was unwise enough to ask for some help in lifting some timbers, Sanji decided enough was enough. He waited until after supper when his nakama had dispersed, then made his way deliberately to the deck behind the cabin.

Unsurprisingly, Zoro was there. Lately he seemed to be virtually living on the aft deck when he wasn’t on watch, avoiding his crewmates as much as possible. This had drawn little comment: for the most part, the Mugiwara accepted Zoro’s currently unpredictable temper much as it did all the eccentricities of their fellow nakama. If anything, there was an unspoken sense of relief that Zoro was making himself scarce, because at least it lessened the chances of becoming the target of his irritability. For all he was their nakama, Zoro could be intimidating enough that no-one was particularly keen to challenge his behaviour, when the option existed to just avoid him until he seemed to be in a better frame of mind.

That was where Sanji differed. He was Zoro’s nakama, sure; but he was something more than that. And that gave him an advantage, he thought, to be able to do what the others would not. Pussyfooting round Zoro and pretending that a problem didn’t exist wasn’t an option; which was why he didn’t hesitate to break in on the swordsman’s self-imposed solitude. Though right now it looked as though the marimo wasn’t in a particularly receptive frame of mind: he was standing propped against the aft rail, arms folded, head down. His eyes were closed, but they opened at the sound of Sanji’s approaching footfall.

“Enjoying the view?” Sanji stopped beside him, his hands in his pockets.

Zoro gave him a sidelong glance, before turning his gaze out to sea. “Yeah.”

“It’ll be dark soon.” Sanji took out a cigarette; lit it and returned his lighter to his pocket. “Time to turn in.”

Zoro gave a non-committal grunt. Sanji took a deep lungful of smoke. _Right. Let’s get into this._ “Or are you trading night watches with someone again tonight?”

Zoro looked at him properly this time. His brows drew down slightly. “Why should I be?”

“Because you’ve been swapping night watches with Luffy, and with Usopp, and with Chopper.” Sanji blew out smoke. “Not with me or with Nami, obviously; and I’m guessing not with Robin. But even so, that means you must be spending the best part of half your nights on deck.”

Zoro stood upright, stepping back from the rail. “What the hell business of yours is it if I do, shit-cook?”

Sanji noted the swift settling of the swordsman’s body into attack stance. “You’re already closer to insanity than most. So rationing your sleep doesn’t seem to me the wisest course of action.”

“I sleep.” Zoro’s response was a growl.

“When? Because you’ve been trading night watches with half the crew, so I assume you’re not getting much sleep during the actual night time.”

“I sleep in the day, on deck. Like I always have done.”

Sanji snorted. “Sure, I’ve seen you. You must be getting, oh, a full two or three hours every day. Plenty for the average psychotic. But the rest of us mere mortals tend to require rather more, or our brains rattle out of our ears.”

“Get out of my face, you nagging bastard. I’m tired of listening to you.”

Sanji looked at the swordsman’s eyes: now he was close he could see they had dark shadows underneath. _You’re tired, all right. You were almost out on your feet until I started talking to you. Whatever this latest piece of macho posturing is about, I don’t have the patience for it._  “No. Enough of the masochist routine. Quit screwing around and trading night watches. Tonight you get some proper sleep, in your hammock. We’re all sick of your foul temper and having to walk on eggshells around you. If you can’t switch your brain off – unlikely though that sounds - then ask Chopper to give you something that will do the job. Or I’ll be happy to kick you in the head if that’s what it takes.”

Zoro’s hand dropped down onto the hilt of Wado Ichimonji. “You want to fight?”

“No.” Sanji spoke as deliberately and clearly as he knew how, willing Zoro to understand that what was being offered wasn’t provocation but concern. “I want you to quit being a craphead and stop with the sleep deprivation routine. Whatever reason you have for doing it, not even you can keep it up. Sooner or later you’re either going to have an accident because you can’t keep your eyes open – or one of us is going to kick your ass. And the way you’ve been acting lately, there’ll be more than one volunteer to do the job.”

Zoro glared at him: Sanji met the glare with a level gaze of his own, while making sure he kept his body language as non-threatening as possible. After almost a full minute of silence the balance shifted; Zoro’s shoulders dropped a little, then the swordsman turned away. “Fuck it.” He sounded as weary as he looked. “If it’ll get you off my back, then fine. I’ll tell those three they can do their own damn night watches. Happy?”

“That’s a start.” Sanji moved to lean on the rail beside him, casting a look at the swordsman. “Getting some proper sleep and starting to act like a human being would be even better.”

Zoro made an impatient sound. “You planning to do a bed check on me?”

Sanji decided not to mention that he’d been doing that already. “I’ve got better things to do than tuck you in.” He gave Zoro another sideways look: the swordsman was gazing out to sea with an expression so glum it surprised him. Sanji felt an unexpected pang of sympathy: of course the idiot had inflicted this on himself, but you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “Unless of course you want me to… In which case, I’m up for the job.” He leaned gently, cautiously, against the shoulder next to his.

It was a wrong move: he felt Zoro tense, then straighten up and step away. “No thanks.”

Sanji knew he shouldn’t feel hurt by the rejection, but it stung. He watched Zoro back off, and felt his own defences come up. “Fine.” He looked away, out to sea, drawing on his cigarette. There was a pause; then he heard footsteps moving away.

 _Asshole._  His throat prickled with the cigarette smoke. He knew he’d only said what needed saying - and no blows had been exchanged, which was always a win where he and Zoro were concerned – but he was left with the uncomfortable feeling that he was no nearer understanding what was putting Zoro into such an antisocial frame of mind.

 _Well, if the idiot gets some sleep it’ll solve the problem anyway._ Some mysteries weren’t meant to be solved, and Sanji had a strong suspicion that included whatever was behind Zoro’s currently stormy mood.

 

 

 

That night Zoro went below, having informed his three crewmates that he would no longer be trading night watches with them. It wasn’t that he felt in any way obliged to do what Sanji had said… More that he didn’t want to face the inevitable hassle of arguing with the damn cook every day about it.

As night fell he lay in his hammock and resigned himself to sleep. But his body, having become accustomed now to disturbed nights, seemed not to want to acquiesce. His muscles twitched; the men’s quarters felt claustrophobically stuffy, annoyingly noisy with the various nocturnal bodily sounds of his nakama. His left hand itched, maddeningly.

Zoro lay in the darkness and cursed Sanji silently and thoroughly. If it wasn’t for the cook sticking his nose in, Zoro would have been up on deck in the cool night air, instead of tossing and turning in the stuffy fug of his hammock.

Sometime after midnight he did finally fall asleep: and then the dreams came, waking him as usual in the early morning hours. He lay soaked in sweat, heart pounding.

 _Damn it._ It was clear that his unruly brain hadn’t yet got the message. Deliberately he breathed slowly in and out, slowing his racing pulse; pushed back his blanket and let the cool air dry off his skin. It felt like there was a way yet till morning, but he had absolutely no desire to close his eyes again. Blinking up at the darkness, Zoro began counting breaths in and out, starting over each time he got to a hundred.

 

 

 

 

Sanji sat up in his hammock yawning, one hand rubbing at his neck: he’d slept awkwardly and felt somewhat stiff. His eye fell on the hammock near his. Zoro was still lying in it, one arm folded behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling. Sanji gave a quick grin. _Ha. Score one for rationality._

Over breakfast, he observed the swordsman unobtrusively. Zoro still seemed subdued, but it was better than the simmering irritability that had been so much a feature of the past few days. The swordsman ate the food that was set in front of him mechanically; responded to requests from his nakama to pass the salt or bread silently but readily enough. He still looked tired, but that was hardly surprising, given that the idiot had been avoiding sleep for probably the best part of a week or two.

One thing that didn’t surprise Sanji was Zoro’s lack of communication with himself. The one time they made eye contact Zoro broke it quickly, dropping his gaze. Evidently there was no thawing of mood after their conversation the night before… Not that Sanji expected there to be.

It didn’t pass unnoticed by everyone, though. Sanji was clearing away after breakfast; Nami had stayed behind in the galley, lingering over her morning coffee. “Ehi, Sanji-kun.” She spoke conversationally. “Did you two have a tiff or something?”

Elbow-deep in a sink full of suds and dirty plates, Sanji felt himself flushing slightly at the question. “Uh?”

“You and Zoro.” Nami took a sip of coffee, then gave him a direct look over her cup. “You could have cut the air with a knife between the two of you this morning.”

“Well…” Sanji debated inwardly what to say. “You know what a surly bastard he is. Pay him no mind.”

“Easier said than done. The way he’s been lately, we’re all getting a slice of it.” Nami tapped her fingers meditatively on the table. “What’s up with that idiot?”

“Who knows.” That at least was honest.

“I’m hoping that you do.” Nami’s tone was pointed.

“Sorry.” Sanji paused in his washing up, to give her a shrug and an apologetic smile. “It’s as much a mystery to me, Nami-swan, as it is to you. But hopefully he’ll get into a better frame of mind soon.”

“I should hope so.” She sighed. “Well, if he’s pissed with you I hope the two of you can kiss and make up, or whatever it is you usually do.” A slightly wicked grin lifted the corners of her mouth.

This time Sanji felt the blush overspread his face. “Nghh.” He turned back to his washing up bowl, rendered temporarily speechless.


	9. Your Wretched Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When reality starts playing tricks on him, Zoro feels like he's running out of options.

_When sleep is a part of town where it's not safe_  
 _To walk at night, when waking is the only way  
_ _You have of distancing your wretched dead_

-       _Howard Nemerov_

 

\-----

 

The days dragged on: and the nights.

Zoro jolted awake one early morning with the feel of a sword still lodged in his spine and found himself wondering how many different ways he could dream about dying without repeating himself. It was an oddly detached thought.

That morning he breakfasted; went through his training routine; ate lunch with his nakama; and everything had the same slightly distant quality to it. He thought an afternoon nap might clear his head, but when he lay back on deck with his hands folded under his head, he was unable to settle. His mind was jumping around, busy with inconsequential thoughts ranging from ideas for new fighting moves to wondering what would be for supper that evening.

Sitting up, Zoro tried his usual remedy for restlessness: more training. He was tired, sure; but it wasn’t so much a physical tiredness as a mental one. His mind felt blurry, but luckily his body knew the routines well enough to carry on regardless. He found himself settling into the rhythm of the repetitions, hefting the weights smoothly with little need to focus beyond each movement.

 

At last he paused, to pick up the towel that lay on the deck. Slowly he wiped the sweat off his face, feeling the cool breeze through the damp of his shirt.

_“Zoro.”_

_The voice was a child’s. There should be no children on the ship, which must be what stopped him: held him as if hands had closed on his shoulders and pinned him to the spot._

_“Zoro.”_

_He didn’t want to turn around. So he made himself do it. And he’d been right: a child sat there, crouching on the steps that led down from the cabin. A girl, slender and dark-haired, her skin bone-white. A girl who met his gaze levelly, a sad smile drawing out the corners of her mouth. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever hear me.”_

_“Hear you?” Zoro swallowed: he knew this had to be a dream, had to be; yet wanted it to be real. “I can hear you all right… What do you mean?”_

_“So many years, you haven’t heard me. Or at least, when I called out to you, you didn’t seem to notice. Or if you did, you never showed it. You never answered me. Until now.”_

_He could see the texture of her white shirt. The shine of her hair. The graze on her knuckles, where she scraped them in training two days ago –_

_Years ago –_

_“Kuina,” he said, and his voice caught and stuck like an old door._

_She turned her head a little on one side. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”_

_“I - ” He didn’t know what the word was, for the feeling in his chest. “You can’t be here.” Her face fell a little at that, and he felt like an ogre. “I mean you – you’re - ” The word lodged in his throat, choked him._

_“O, because I’m dead?” She shrugged as if this was of little consequence. “That doesn’t matter. You don’t know, Zoro. I didn’t know, until I died. There are so many places we can go. Not just heaven or hell.”_

_“I don’t believe in – those places.”_

_She regarded him a little sadly. “I know.”_

_“I don’t believe in ghosts, either.” Even though he was talking to one._

_Kuina wrapped her arms around her knees. “That won’t help.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“They told me you wouldn’t believe. That I’d always be bound.”_

_“ ‘They’? Who are ‘they’?”_

_“It doesn’t matter.” She shook her head._

_“And what do you mean, ‘bound’?” He looked to see if she was tied in any way, but her wrists and ankles were free._

_“Bound to you. And to my katana, that you carry.”_

_His hand tightened then: it was resting on Wado Ichimonji, though he hadn’t realised it. “I… asked your father for it.” He swallowed. “So I could keep our promise.”_

_“That is why I’m bound. To roam this earth. You’re keeping me here, Zoro.”_

_He didn’t know what to say to that. Found the only words he could. “I’m sorry.”_

_“For keeping me bound? Or for causing my death?”_

_“Your - ?” He caught his breath at that: stared at her._

_She regarded him sadly. “I had to sharpen my sword after our battle. I was fetching my whetstone…”_

_“…When you slipped and fell down the stairs.” He could barely get the words out._

_“Yes.” She nodded._

_“I’m sorry.” This time he whispered it. Again, like a prayer. “Kuina, I’m sorry - ”_

 

“Zoro?” A voice from behind made him look around, startled. Robin was standing there, watching him curiously. “Did you say something?”

Zoro looked back to the steps. Which were empty in the afternoon sunlight. He let out a breath.

“Zoro?” Robin came to stand at his side. She followed his gaze to the steps, then back to his face. “What is it?”

He gave a half shake of his head; swallowed. “Nothing.” His hand still held the cloth he’d been using to wipe the sweat from his skin; his fingers were tightly clenched upon it.

 

Robin regarded him for a moment. “Zoro-san… Are you all right?” Her voice was quiet.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Zoro frowned at her.

Robin looked at him a moment longer with her steady dark eyes. “You’ve been training hard most of the day. Maybe you should take a break, have a drink of water.”

Zoro turned away. “Yeah… I was about to stop, anyway.” He brought the cloth up to his face, wiped at the cold sweat there. He kept turned away until he heard Robin walk off across the deck… Then let himself sit down on the steps.

_What the hell is happening?_

He lowered the cloth and let his arms rest on his knees. Stared at them; at the cloth. At his feet resting on the weather-faded planking of the deck.

_This is real. You’re awake. This is not a dream._

Until Robin had spoken to him, Kuina had been real too. As real as the steps she’d been sitting on: the same steps he was now sitting on, exactly where she had been.

His skin crawled: he had to fight an urge to turn around, to stand up and make sure there was no other figure behind him on the steps.

_Fuck, Roronoa. Get a grip._

This was something he had no idea of how to deal with. Bad dreams at night, they were unpleasant and were definitely cutting into his sleeping time, but this? Dreams walking into his daylight hours? This was too much.

With a sudden movement he stood up. Walked away from the steps, not looking back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Has anyone ‘borrowed’ my ruler?” Nami’s question came in dangerous tones: at the galley table, Usopp looked up nervously.

“I haven’t seen it!” The marksman’s response was panicky.

Nami’s eyes narrowed. “Really? Because the last time it went missing, I found it in your toolbox, you light-fingered fibber.”

“Ehi, just a misunderstanding.” Usopp made an apologetic gesture, grinning feebly. “I must have put it there by accident when I was tidying up. But I’m sure it’s not there now!”

Nami’s fingers drummed on the table. “How sure can you be… if you haven’t gone and looked?” There was a pause, during which she looked at him significantly.

After a moment, realisation hit Usopp like a tidal wave. “O, yes! I’ll go and look! Right now!” He leaped up from the table and ran out of the galley, the door slamming behind him.

 

Nami sat down at the table with a sigh. “The things I have to do to keep track of my belongings round here… Nothing’s sacred, you’re all a bunch of thieving pirates.”

Sanji paused as he stirred a pot on the stove; thought better of sharing his thought out loud, that it took one to know one. “If Usopp did take your ruler, I’m sure he’ll be back with it very soon, Nami-swan.”

“He better be.” Nami folded her arms. “I can’t put so much as a pencil down without that long-nosed sneak making off with it.”

Sanji smiled, taking a sip of the soup he was making to check the flavour balance. “Well, he’s an artist. I guess when inspiration strikes, he has to go with the flow.”

“If he doesn’t quit swiping my things, something else is going to strike him,” Nami promised ominously.

 

The door opened again: Nami looked up expectantly, only to give a disappointed grunt at the sight of Zoro coming in. “Oh… It’s you.”

Zoro looked at her with a momentary frown, before heading over to the store cupboard. Sanji turned at the stove. “What are you after? Supper’ll be ready in less than an hour.”

“A drink.” Zoro took down a bottle of wine, uncorked it and took a swig.

Sanji regarded him with a lifted eyebrow. “So it’s back to wine now? At least that’ll leave some coffee for the rest of us.”

Zoro took another swig before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Do you ever stop griping, cook?”

“Not till you develop some manners, marimo.”

“Stop flirting, you two.” Nami grinned at them from the table, chin resting on her hand.

Both men paused, shooting her a quick look; met each other’s gaze consciously; then subsided. Sanji turned back to his pot of soup and Zoro headed for the door, shutting it behind him. Nami chuckled. “You are both such easy marks.”

Sanji kept a careful silence, focussing studiously on his cooking. After a short pause, Nami said in less provocative tones, “Anyway, the two of you seem to be getting on better, the past few days. And Zoro’s been less like a bear with a sore head.”

“Mm-hm.” Sanji made a cautious noise of agreement. Things hadn’t exactly… warmed up much between him and Zoro. But since he’d confronted the swordsman that evening a week ago, there had certainly been less outright conflict. Zoro still looked like he could use a month’s sleep, but at least he’d stopped growling at his crewmates. “We had… a little talk.”

“Well, whatever you said, seems to have done the trick.” Nami smiled at him. “Keep it up.”

“For you, my lovely, I will charm the savage beast, no matter the cost to myself.” Sanji gave her a melting smile back in return.

“Let’s hope you don’t run out of wine before we reach the next island,” Nami answered, somewhat more prosaically.

 

 

 

 

Outside on the aft deck, Zoro tipped up the bottle and drank, swallowing deep. It wasn’t very good stuff - not that he was much of a judge, Sanji was the one who was familiar with the claptrap of supposed wine lore – but all that mattered was that it would take the edge off. He lifted the bottle and drank again, huge gulps that made his throat ache and left his mouth tasting sour.

For once his ability to sink alcohol without feeling its effects was not an advantage. He wanted to be drunk. Or at least, wanted to be switched off enough that he could stagger to his hammock and sleep, put his head down and go to sleep and not dream.

There was little chance of that, he knew. Because he’d tried it last night; and the night before that. And it hadn’t worked. But he was going to try it anyway, because at some point something had to work. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on like this.

Since he’d seen Kuina sitting on the steps – was it four days ago? – there had been moments every day when the waking dreams had come again. He’d been cleaning his swords and a pool of blood had suddenly appeared beneath them, spreading slowly across the deck. The other morning he’d heard his nakama screaming and run up the ladder from the men’s sleeping quarters, only to find everyone quietly going about their business. One night at supper he’d felt the prickle of being watched: looked up to one of the cabin windows just in time to see a pale face disappear slowly from view.

Zoro pressed the heels of his hands into his closed eyes until sparks of colour swam in the darkness there.

 _Something’s got to work._ He’d tried not sleeping; now it seemed as though dreams were taking him over. He groped for the wine bottle and took another drink; kept going until it was empty. There was more wine in the galley, but he didn’t want to go in there again. Folding his arms on his knees, he rested his forehead on them and tried to slow down his aching mind.

 

 

 

“How long before supper?” Nami leaned back in her chair.

Sanji looked up from where he was slicing warm, freshly-baked bread into hunks ready to be dipped into the soup. “Ten, fifteen minutes.”

“Right. Then I’ve just got time to water the mikan grove.” She got up. “Make sure the rest of those idiots don’t eat all that bread before I get back. I love it when it’s warm out of the oven.”

“Here, take a piece with you.” Sanji deftly spread a curl of butter onto the warm crust, before handing it to her. “Manna for my angel.”

“Thank you, Sanji-kun.” Nami grinned, sinking her teeth into the melting buttery crust. “Mmm… Warm bread is like love on a plate.”

Sanji turned back to finishing preparation of supper, smiling as the door shut behind Nami. A little warm glow of appreciation nestled somewhere behind his heart.

 

Nami slipped the last warm morsel of fresh bread into her mouth and licked her buttery fingers as she picked up the water bucket and headed around the cabin. Near the steps that led up to the mikan grove, she saw a figure sat hunched on the deck, wine bottle beside it. The corner of her mouth quirked up: as she neared the apparently sleeping swordsman, she gave him a nudge on the shoulder with her elbow. “Ehi, Zoro. Wake up, supper’ll be ready soon.”

 

 

In the galley, Sanji was laying the table when Nami’s scream cut the evening air. His head jerked up: then he was propelling himself around the table and out of the door, skidding on his heel on the deck outside as he headed aft.

As he came round the corner, the sight that met him made so little sense that for a moment he couldn’t take it in. Nami was lying on the deck, one arm raised as if to shield herself; there was blood on her other shoulder. And standing in front of her, sword raised was… _Zoro?_

Sanji’s brain almost short-circuited: refused to accept what it was seeing. Until Nami let out a sobbing cry, trying to crawl backwards along the deck; and Zoro moved as if to follow after her. Which was when Sanji felt himself jerk forwards, interspersing himself between the sobbing woman and the swordsman. “Oi! What the fuck are you doing, bastard!”

At that Zoro’s gaze switched to him and Sanji saw, in the one split second he got, that Zoro was not seeing Nami or Sanji or even where he was. The swordsman was locked into attack stance as if it were his deadliest enemy before him, rather than his bewildered nakama: and whatever the hell he _was_ seeing, he intended to kill it.

_Take him the fuck down -_

Seeing the deadly intent in Zoro’s eyes was probably what saved Sanji from winding up like Nami, sword-cut on the deck. Because his own attack reflexes kicked in and he launched a kick that drove under Zoro’s katana and caught the swordsman square in the chest, jolting him backwards; and he followed up with a quick pivot and a second kick that struck Zoro on the jaw, spinning the swordsman sideways and down.

Which was when Sanji knew for sure, breathing hard and standing protectively between the sobbing Nami and the downed swordsman, that something was really wrong with Zoro. As if the crazy bastard trying to kill his own nakama wasn’t proof enough. Because when did Zoro ever let himself be floored by a mere two kicks from the cook? But he was down now: on his side with his katana fallen around him. Not out, though. Within a few seconds, the swordsman stirred and began to get up – which was when two rubbery arms went round him from behind.

“Zoro! What are you doing?” Luffy had appeared from nowhere, his yell loud enough to wake the dead; but not loud enough to rouse Zoro from whatever waking trance he was in. The swordsman strained against his captain’s grip as it pinned his arms to his sides: Luffy knotted his fingers together and held fast, his feet scraping across the deck as Zoro staggered forwards, dragging him in his wake. “Sanji! Kick him again - hard!”

Sanji hesitated for a moment – this was _Zoro_ , for fuck’s sake, and he was trapped in their captain’s inhumanly strong grip – but then Zoro let out a growl and wrenched one arm free, clawing out to where one of his swords was lying just close enough to reach. So Sanji moved quicker and lashed out a third powerful kick that connected with the side of the swordsman’s head. Zoro slumped in Luffy’s arms and this time when he went down, he stayed down.


	10. Everything Is Torn Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mugiwara have to deal with what's happening to Zoro.

_Everything I know is wrong_   
_Everything I do, it just comes undone_   
_And everything is torn apart_   
_Oh and it’s the hardest part_

_\- Coldplay_

 

\-----

 

The galley door opened and shut: Chopper walked slowly to the table, where Luffy and Usopp sat in unnatural silence. Usopp gave the little doctor a wide-eyed look. “Is Nami - ”

“She’ll be all right.” Chopper sat opposite them, giving a small nod. “She’s got a deep cut on her shoulder, but there’s no serious damage to the muscle or tendons. I’ve stitched it up; Robin’s sitting with her now.”

“Thank goodness.” Usopp slumped with relief, propping his forehead on one uplifted hand. “When I saw all the blood, I thought… Anyway, I’m glad she’s going to be all right.”

“A few inches to the left and she wouldn’t have been.” Chopper shook his head. “The same sword cut would have struck the artery in her neck and she would have died.”

“Don’t say that, don’t even say that!” Usopp stared at him. “How could Zoro have done such a terrible thing?”

Luffy stood up abruptly from the table. “That’s what I’m going to find out,” he said, heading for the galley door.

 

 

 

 

In the flickering light of a lantern, Sanji sat on a crate in the anchor room and watched the unconscious swordsman, smoking his way through his third cigarette.

Zoro hadn’t moved since he and Luffy had brought him in here. He’d been out cold since Sanji’s final kick had found its target, but they hadn’t taken any chances: as soon as Luffy had let go of him, they’d found some rope and tied Zoro’s wrists together, wrapping the thick hemp cord tightly round several times before securing it. Of course, Zoro was strong enough to maybe get free, but at least it would slow him down. And they’d taken his katana away, of course: they were stashed securely below decks, and right now Sanji couldn’t foresee when they’d be giving them back. Because no-one on board the Going Merry was going to want to arm a killer.

 _Killer._ His eyes rested on the motionless form lying on the deck. Of course Zoro had killed people, he knew that. He’d seen it. But those had been enemies, had been people attacking Zoro or his nakama first.

They hadn’t been Nami, for sure.

 

His stomach knotted. He still couldn’t forget the look on Nami’s face, when he had turned around after kicking Zoro out cold. The way she had been shaking so hard she couldn’t stand, and he’d had to carry her downstairs for Chopper to treat the wound in her shoulder. The wound Zoro had put there.

He understood her reaction. He’d seen the deadly intent in Zoro’s eyes. No doubt that was what Nami had seen too, just before the swordsman attacked her.

It had been lucky for Nami that Sanji and Luffy had been close enough to get to the aft deck swiftly. Lucky that they had taken Zoro down before he’d been able to finish what he’d intended to do.

Sanji almost hadn’t landed that third kick. But when Zoro had yanked one arm free from Luffy’s pinioning grip, had started reaching for his sword, Sanji’s instinct to protect his other nakama had sent him into motion harder and faster than before. He’d kicked Zoro forcefully enough to make no mistake about laying him out, and it had worked: the swordsman had gone out like a light.

 

Lamplight fell across Zoro’s face. There was a bruise on his jaw; a larger, darker one spreading across his cheekbone and the side of his forehead. He was going to have a black eye too, by the looks of it. If it had been any of his other nakama, or Zoro himself at any other time, Sanji would have fetched a cold compress and laid it on the bruise. But now he sat and smoked, and watched the swordsman. Because right now there was no way of knowing who was going to wake up: his nakama, or a killer.

His cigarette was nearly down to the filter: he used it to light a fourth one, before dropping the butt onto the floor and grinding it out with the toe of his shoe. As he moved, the crate he was sitting on let out a creak and his eye was caught by a movement: Zoro’s arm gave a twitch. A moment later, the swordsman’s eyes slowly opened; blinked. Sanji straightened up, his eyes fixing on the wakening man.

Zoro blinked again; his head turned slightly, as if he was trying to look to see where he was. His arms moved too: Sanji saw his hands shift, as if the swordsman was trying to bring them underneath himself to sit up. Which was when Zoro became aware of the rope bound round his wrists and let out a startled breath. For a moment his arms tensed, hands straining apart as if to try to force the ropes.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Sanji spoke clearly. “We tied them on pretty good. Chances are you’ll just pull the knots tighter.”

Zoro’s head jerked around sharply, his eyes finding Sanji in the lamplight. “What – What the hell - ” He let out another harsh breath, before pushing his bound hands against the deck and using them to lever himself upright. His eyes roamed around the anchor room, then back to Sanji.

 _Nakama? Or killer?_ Sanji couldn’t tell in the uncertain light what was looking out of Zoro’s eyes. “I’d sit still if I were you. You took a pretty good kick to the head.”

 

Zoro stared at him. “What… is this?” He swallowed, gave his head a half shake, wincing, then looked back at Sanji. “Is this… real?”

Of all the things Sanji had been expecting Zoro might say, this wasn’t one of them. Nor was he prepared for the look of apprehension on the swordsman’s face. “Oh, yeah. It’s real, all right.” He narrowed his eyes. “Did I scramble your brains, marimo? Or were they scrambled already?”

Zoro’s brows drew down into a frown of confusion. “What the hell are you talking about? Why am I tied up?”

“What do you remember?” Sanji asked cautiously.

Zoro’s frown deepened. “I don’t…” Something seemed to swim to the surface: he looked at Sanji. “Was there a fight? Someone got on board the Going Merry ?”

 _He doesn’t know what he did._ Sanji studied him for a moment before speaking. “No. No-one got aboard. But there was a fight.” Zoro was still watching him, baffled; Sanji felt the knot in his stomach tightening. “You attacked Nami. With your katana.”

Disbelief: but only for an instant. Quickly followed by eyes widening and darkening, colour draining from Zoro’s face as realisation hit. Realisation deepening into horror. “Nami - ? Is she - ?”

“She’s hurt, but she’ll live.” Sanji didn’t mean to speak harshly, but there was still a well of anger within him that made it hard not to. “No thanks to you.”

Zoro’s head dropped, eyes shutting tight. Slowly his hands clenched into fists. “I – I didn’t see her.” His voice was unsteady. “I didn’t know she was there.”

Sanji clenched his jaw. “Then why the hell did you attack her?”

“I didn’t attack her. I attacked – I saw – someone else. There, on the aft deck.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” The reply was in a hopeless tone, as if Zoro knew how useless an answer it was.

 

 

There was a clunk as the anchor room door opened; Luffy walked in, glanced at Zoro and went to stand in front of him. Sanji looked at their captain. “Nami - ?”

“Chopper says she’ll be okay.” Luffy said this in a flat tone, his gaze not leaving the swordsman, who still sat with downturned head. “Oi. You.” Zoro made no move. “You better look at me: I’ve got something to say to you.”

Slowly Zoro looked up at their captain. Luffy regarded him steadily. “You try anything like that again, I’ll kill you.” Zoro lowered his head. “Nami is your nakama. You attacked her.” There was a dangerous undertone of cold fury in Luffy’s voice. “If it hadn’t been for Sanji and me, you might have killed her.”

Zoro bowed his head lower. “I’m sorry. I never… I would never want to hurt her.”

“That’s not much good.” Luffy sounded impatient. “You did hurt her. Why?”

“I… I don’t know.” Zoro swallowed.

“Yada!” Luffy strode up to Zoro and grabbed him by the shoulder, jerking him back so that the swordsman was forced to look up. “That’s not good enough! Why did this happen? You better tell me!”

“Tell him what you told me.” Sanji also stood up. “About seeing someone there, on the aft deck.”

Luffy glanced at Sanji, then back to Zoro. The swordsman took a breath. “I saw… someone. Someone attacking me, with a sword. So I fought them. That’s all I remember… Till I woke up in here.”

“There was no-one on the aft deck but you and Nami, till Luffy and I got there.” Sanji spoke deliberately, his hands in his pockets. “So what are you saying? That this – mystery attacker was someone only you could see? That’s a pretty tall story for us to accept - ”

“It wasn’t real.” Zoro broke through what Sanji was saying. In the sudden silence that followed, he repeated himself. “It wasn’t real. What I saw. But I didn’t know that. Not till – not till now.”

Sanji frowned; beside him, Luffy folded his arms. “What do you mean, it wasn’t real?”

“That attacker – what I saw - ” Zoro gave a sharp shake of his head. “It wasn’t real. But I saw it. That’s why I did what I did. It’s not an excuse. But that’s why.”

“So you saw… some weird vision, of a ghost or something?” Sanji was trying to understand. “Are we being haunted by some Grand Line poltergeist on this ship now?”

“No.” Zoro looked at him. “Not a ghost. And not the rest of you. It’s just me. I’m the one seeing things that aren’t there.”

“ ‘Things’ ?” Sanji noted the plural. “You mean this has happened before?”

Zoro nodded miserably. “A few times, this last week. I’ve… seen stuff, that I know isn’t real. Things that are there one moment, then gone the next. It’s like I’m dreaming it, only I’m awake.”

 _Dreaming it?_   Sanji’s eyes narrowed as things began to connect together in his mind. “Wait a minute… Has this got anything to do with you not sleeping?”

“I don’t know. Probably.” Zoro evidently knew his reply was unsatisfactory.

“Son of a bitch.” Sanji felt fresh anger building up in him. “I _knew_   there was something off with you. Why didn’t you say something, you idiot?”

“Whoa!” Luffy stepped in between his two nakama. “What’s all this, Zoro? What’s Sanji talking about?”

Zoro faced his captain. “When I took your night watches… I was taking Usopp’s and Chopper’s, as well. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why?”

Zoro’s face flushed. “Because… I was having bad dreams. They kept waking me up. So I tried taking more night watches, sleeping in the day instead. I thought that would help. But it didn’t work.” His eyes flickered to Sanji, then he continued. “Then the last week, the dreams have started coming in the daytime too. When I’m awake. That’s what happened tonight, with me and Nami. Luffy, I swear: I didn’t even see her. I didn’t know she was there.” His voice had grown rough.

“Ehh…” Luffy regarded Zoro steadily. After a moment’s silence, he said simply, “Okay. I believe you.”

 

Zoro swallowed. When he spoke again, his voice was low. “I thought I could fix this – stop having these dreams. But I can’t. And now I’m having them when I’m awake... I don’t know what’s real. The dreams: they _feel_ real. Tonight I thought I was doing the right thing, fighting off an attacker: and instead I nearly - ” He broke off, lowering his head. After a moment, he continued. “Luffy. This is going to get worse, and I can’t control it. So you’ll have to.”

Luffy tilted his head a little on one side. “What do you mean?”

“You have to deal with this.” Zoro raised his head and looked directly at his captain. “An insane swordsman is a liability. I’m too dangerous to be going out of control. You’re strong enough to put me down: so do it.”

 

For a long pause there was no sound except the creaking of the ship and the sound of the three of them breathing. In Sanji’s brain the words _put me down_ echoed: resonated clearly.

_What the fuck?_

Sanji stared at Zoro: at what he saw in the swordsman’s face. Beneath the bruises, beneath the exhaustion. Guilt; and hopelessness.

_He’s asking Luffy to kill him._

 

The silence stretched for a few moments longer, while Luffy gazed at the swordsman. Before suddenly breaking into loud laughter.

Both Zoro and Sanji stared at their captain, disbelieving. Of all the reactions they’d thought Luffy might show, this was the least expected.

“Why – why are you laughing?” Zoro’s voice was unsteady.

“Because it’s funny!” Luffy laughed all the louder. “Wah hah ha!”

Sanji felt incredulity filling him. Luffy thought that it was funny, that Zoro was losing his mind?

Their captain reined his laughter in to become chuckles, then stopped… Albeit with a broad grin still on his face. “Kill you? That’s ridiculous!”

“Luffy, I’m telling you – I’m out of control, I’m too dangerous to have around - ”

“Baka!” Luffy was still grinning. “What makes you think you’re the most dangerous person aboard this ship? I could beat you with one hand tied behind my back. No, with both hands tied behind my back!” He leaned forward. “I’ll bet Sanji can kick your ass nine times out of ten.”

“Make that ten times out of ten.” Sanji was starting to see where Luffy was going with this. “Even on a bad day.”

Zoro looked from one to the other of them. “What the hell are you both talking about - ”

“O, Mr Big-Shot Santoryu, get real. We can lay you out without breaking into a sweat. Hell, the only reason you got the drop on Nami was that you took her by surprise.”

Zoro flinched at that one. “So the next time I take one of you by surprise, what happens?”

“Ha! Not gonna happen!” Luffy grinned again. “Now that we know you’re a madman, who do you think is going turn their back on you again? You’ve lost your chance!”

Zoro looked slowly from Luffy to Sanji, then back again. “If I’m a madman… I think I’ve got company.”

Sanji smiled at that. “Takes one to know one.”

 

Luffy folded his arms, his gaze trained on Zoro. “So you’re a little crazy at the moment. We’ll handle it.” He shrugged. “You give us any trouble, we’ll wipe the floor with you. And meantime we’ll get Chopper to take a look at you, so he can fix what’s wrong.”

“And if he can’t?” Zoro demanded.

“Chopper can fix anything.” Luffy sounded as though there was no more discussion to be had. Bending forwards, he began to untie the ropes around Zoro’s wrists.

“Luffy - ” Zoro pulled his hands back, out of his captain’s grip. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Untying you.” Luffy reached for the ropes again. “You can’t wander round the ship with your hands tied. How would you fish me out of the ocean the next time I fell in?” His eyes met the swordsman’s: for a long moment their gazes held. At last Zoro let his hands fall, to where Luffy could reach them.

 

Once Zoro’s hands were freed Luffy stepped back, tossing the rope onto the floor. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Zoro looked up from rubbing his wrists.

“You’ve got an apology to make, to Nami. Then you need to see Chopper.” Luffy’s gaze was firm.

Zoro swallowed. “All right.” Slowly he began to get up from the floor.

Sanji stepped in between Luffy and the swordsman. “We’ll catch you up, Luffy.” He gave Zoro a look, then turned back to their captain. “Give us a minute.”

Luffy glanced from one to the other, then gave a nod. “Okay.” He moved to the door and exited the anchor room, shutting the door behind him.

 

 

There was a long silence. Sanji brought out a cigarette: took care to concentrate on lighting it as he spoke. “So. Here’s my question.” He clicked his lighter shut and looked directly into Zoro’s eyes. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything about what was going on?”

“Like what?” Zoro met his gaze.

“Like, the fact you’ve been having these nightmares. Pretty much every night, from the sounds of it.”

“Why would talking about it help? It’s nobody else’s business.”

Sanji drew in smoke, then exhaled slowly. “Until you start running amok on deck with your katana… Well, that kind of makes it everyone’s business, ne?”

 

There was a heavy silence at that. Sanji risked a look: Zoro was looking down at his hands, which had clenched into fists. Sanji felt a pang then, but pressed on. Truth was painful but necessary. “If you’d said something about what was going on, maybe we could have helped earlier. Chopper could have given you something.” Zoro made a dismissive grunt. “Keeping it to yourself didn’t work out so well, that’s for sure.”

“I didn’t want to talk about it.” Zoro spoke in abrupt tones.

“Why not?” No answer; Sanji sighed. “Oi, dumbass. Couldn’t you at least have said something to me? I’d have listened.”

“What the hell would I have said? That I was having bad dreams?” A flush had crept across Zoro’s face, together with an expression that was so rarely there that it took Sanji a moment to recognise it.

_He’s ashamed._

 

Sanji took a moment to process this realisation. Then, carefully choosing his words, he answered. “Why not? Everyone has them.”

“Not like – these.”

“What, you think your nightmares are superior to those the rest of us mere mortals have? Wind your arrogance down a notch. Every human walking this planet sometimes has dreams they wake up screaming from.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, welcome to the nightmare club.” Sanji fixed him with a look. “Anyway, I don’t believe you never had night terrors before. What about when you were a kid?”

“That’s different.” Zoro looked away. “All kids have bad dreams.”

 _I bet you did._ Sanji flicked ash away, considering before he spoke again. “Yeah. Me for one.” He watched the tense set of the swordsman’s shoulders: decided to venture further. “When Zeff got the Baratie and I started living and working there, it was busy as hell. I worked my ass off. I was doing so much, learning so much, I didn’t have time to remember all those weeks shipwrecked on the rock. Except when I went to sleep. Then I was back there, like I’d never left. Like we’d never been rescued. I used to wake up screaming bloody murder, with a pain in my guts as if I was still starving.”

“You were just a kid. I’m not.”

“So what?”

“So, a few bad dreams is kids’ stuff. And I should be able to handle it, if I’m any kind of a man.”

“Did it ever occur to you that as we grow, maybe our nightmares do too?” Sanji huffed out an angry lungful of smoke. No answer. “What were these dreams about?” Still a stony silence. “Maybe talking about them would help - ”

“No.” There was no mistaking the warning in Zoro’s voice.

 _Shit. He’s already on the edge, I shouldn’t push him any further._ “Okay. Then don’t. But it’s out in the open now, anyway. So no more secrets. We can help you, but only if you let us in. Agreed?”

 

There was a pause, before Zoro answered quietly, “I’ll do what needs doing to fix this.” He looked directly at Sanji. “But I need you to promise me something.”

“Let’s hear it.” Sanji was wary: he wasn’t about to promise anything up front.

“What I said, to Luffy. About needing to deal with me.” Zoro held Sanji’s gaze. “I meant it. If this gets any worse…”

“Luffy told you, we can handle this - ”

“Shut up.” Zoro still spoke quietly, but his voice held an intent that stilled the air between them. “I know what Luffy said. But if Chopper can’t fix this, if I go out of control: someone’s going to have to deal with that. To deal with me.”

 _Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare ask me._ Sanji felt his jaw clench. “That’s not - ”

“If Luffy won’t do it. It has to be you.” Zoro’s eyes were steady on Sanji. “I want you to promise me. That it’ll be you.”

“Bastard.” Sanji ground the word out. “Do you know what you’re asking?”

“Yes.” Zoro held his angry gaze. “Do you know why I’m asking it? Because I trust you more than any other person on this boat.”

 

Sanji met his eyes for a few angry seconds of silence… Then his hand shot out suddenly, grabbing a fistful of Zoro’s shirt and tightening on it. “Fucking idiot! When I kicked you, did I kick out all your brains? _Listen to me._ ” His fist wrenched at Zoro’s shirt, jerking the swordsman forward slightly. “What gives you the right to play God? To decide how and when you die? Or to ask someone else to make that choice for you?”

“Who else am I going to ask?” Zoro didn’t resist the grip on his shirt, let himself be shaken. This submission was so totally alien, so totally un-Zoro, that Sanji felt his fury rise a notch higher at it. He wanted to do more than shake the swordsman: he wanted to punch him in the face. Instead he leaned in closer, making each word serve in place of the blows he wanted to land. “You have fucked up, big time. Everyone knows that. You have screwed up, and hurt one of us. And this is your solution? Giving up? Making an early exit because you don’t want to face the music? I always knew you were a moron, but I never thought you were a fucking coward.”

Zoro stiffened at that. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.” Sanji wound his fingers tighter into the other man’s shirt. “Only a coward would talk the way you are. About quitting, instead of facing up to what happened and trying to make it right.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, I think I do. I’m talking about you giving up before you’ve even tried. Roronoa Zoro, the greatest swordsman in the world? That’s a joke. You won’t even fight to try to save yourself.”

Zoro’s hand came up so suddenly it blurred, gripping Sanji’s wrist. “ _I have tried.”_

“You call this trying?” Sanji heard the edge in Zoro’s voice: forced himself not to yield before it. “Try harder.”

“It doesn’t matter how hard I fight.” Zoro stared into Sanji’s eyes. “Every night, I fight it. Every night, it ends the same way. In the dreams: however hard I fight, whatever I do. It ends the same way. I lose. I die. The people around me, that I care about, die. _Always_.”

“They’re just dreams. This is reality. And I’m telling you here and now, losing isn’t an option.” Sanji held his gaze. “Neither is giving up.”

“Nothing works.” Zoro gave a half-shake of his head. “When I fight, I can use my strength. My technique. I can move faster, fight harder. But this – nothing works.”

“The reason you win your fights isn’t because of strength. Or technique, or speed.” One corner of Sanji’s mouth twisted wryly. “You want to know why you win? It’s because you’re such a stubborn son-of-a-bitch.” At Zoro’s sudden look, he smiled. “You made a promise, a while back. To never lose again. And as far I’ve seen, you’ve kept that promise. So what makes you think it’s okay to break it now?”

 

There was a long silence between them. At last, Zoro spoke. “You say this is real. And right now, I know it is. But part of me wonders if in a moment I’m going to wake up and this has been just another damn dream. Can you understand? Because sooner or later, I’m guessing that everything is going to start feeling like a dream. And I haven’t a fucking clue what I will do then.”

“Whatever you do, we will deal with it.” Sanji took a measured breath. “In case you hadn’t noticed: you attacked one of us with a sword, and we dealt with it.” At the look on Zoro’s face, he continued swiftly. “Point being, we’re your nakama. We will deal with the shit when it goes down. So if you lose the plot for a while and go walkabout in the world of dreams, we will still be here when you wake up. Just like we were today.” He fixed the other man with a look. “You want a promise from me? Then this is the one you’re getting. Whatever happens, however far you go from us – or from yourself - I will be right here. Ready to help you, or to kick your ass, or whatever the hell you need. You want to trust something, trust that.”

Zoro’s eyes searched the cook’s. Then they shut. Sanji felt a tremor run through his guts.

_Don’t you give up on me, you crap bastard –_

Then Zoro opened his eyes again. They were still shadowed, still marked with uncertainty… But the hopelessness had gone. “If that’s the best offer I’m getting… I’ll take it.” A corner of his mouth twitched up, in a ghost of a smile.

Slowly Sanji let out the breath he’d been holding, while bringing an answering smile onto his own face. “You better hold up your end of the deal.”

“What’s that?”

“No more of this bullshit about giving up. And no more keeping things from us, either. We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s going on.”

Zoro nodded slowly. “All right.”

Sanji released his shirt; was about to take his hand away, then changed his mind. Carefully, he reached out and gently touched his fingers to Zoro’s cheek, light as a breath where the bruise marked the skin. “You better put something on that.”

“It’s okay.” Zoro let the fingers rest there, but his eyes refused Sanji’s sympathy. Sanji understood, on some level. _Penance._ The cook let his hand stay there a moment longer, then took it away. “I guess we better go see the others.”

 

 

 

Descending the steps into the women’s quarters, Sanji took a look at Zoro. The swordsman’s expression had settled into its habitual one of control, but Sanji knew him well enough to spot tell-tale signs of stress. As they reached the foot of the steps and drew close to Nami’s bed, Robin and Luffy who were sitting there turned around; drew back and made space for them. Nami was sitting up in the bed, her right arm in a sling, the shoulder neatly bandaged. She looked pale: as she saw them her eyes fastened on Zoro, growing darker.

Zoro stopped a couple of feet away from the bed, his hands at his sides. He met Nami’s challenging look. “Nami… I’m sorry.” He knelt on the floor, bowing down his head until it touched the deck. “I’m truly sorry.”

Nami let silence stretch for a few seconds, frowning down at him… Before she let out an impatient sound. “All right. Get up. I’m not talking to you while you’re facing the floor.” Zoro lifted his head and looked at her and Nami glared at him. “I said get up, idiot.” Slowly the swordsman got to his feet, watching her. “So you’re sorry, hah?”

Zoro swallowed. “Yes.”

“Not as sorry as you’re going to be.” Nami gestured towards the nearby chair, where her shirt lay, bloody and torn. “You owe me a new shirt, for starters. That one cost a thousand beli.”

Zoro looked at the shirt, then back to her. “I… Uh…”

“I haven’t finished.” Nami effortlessly interrupted him. “You think you can just waltz in here and apologise, and that makes everything all right? Think again. You tried to chop my arm off. I am _seriously_ pissed off with you.”

Behind Zoro, Sanji had to raise his hand to hide his growing grin. From the bed, Nami continued her tirade. “Your ass is _mine_ , shithead. Everything I need help with over the next few weeks because of this - ” she gestured at her bandaged arm  “ – you will be doing for me. Every dirty chore that I would have been doing in the next _six_ _months_ , is, guess what, now going to be yours. I don’t expect to have to lift, carry or fetch so much as a glass of water if you’re within earshot. Are you clear on that?”

Zoro blinked. “Uh – yeah - ”

“Good.” Nami sat back against her pillows. “Starting now. I’m having my supper in bed. So you can bring it down to me, when it’s ready.”

 

Zoro appeared to be processing information, with difficulty. Sanji had some sympathy for him: functioning below par as Zoro was, suffering from severe sleep deprivation and a recent kick to the head, Nami’s performance might have been the final straw that overloaded the swordsman’s stuttering brain. However, after a long pause, Zoro managed to produce a more or less coherent response. “Okay. But…”

“But what?” Nami’s eyes narrowed.

Zoro gestured, a little helplessly, towards her bandaged arm. “You want me waiting on you… When I did _that?”_

Nami’s eyes held him. “Are you planning on doing it again?”

“No! Fuck - ” Zoro caught himself, darted a trapped look at his other nakama, then turned back to face the intimidating figure in the bed. “No. And I didn’t plan on doing it, the first time.”

“Glad to hear it.” Nami spoke crisply. “Then what I said, still stands. So tough luck, chore boy: like I said, you owe me, plenty.”

“I know that. And I’ll do whatever it takes… to make it up to you. For what I did.” Zoro swallowed. “It was unforgiveable. I’m sorry.” His voice was thick with shame.

Nami’s eyes softened, just a little. “Well… It was scary. But Luffy’s told me, why it happened.” At his sudden look up, she nodded at him. “That you didn’t see me. That you were seeing something else, like a waking dream. So I’m not taking it personally.” Zoro said nothing. After a moment, Nami sighed. “Anyway, it’s over now. I accept your apology, but you still owe me a shirt and six months’ worth of chores. _That_  doesn’t change.”

 

 

 

 

Compared with retribution at the hands of an irate Nami, Zoro’s consultation with Chopper should have been easier going. However the little doctor was in no mood for prevarication, and began their session with a lengthy scolding on the theme of untreated sickness on a ship becoming a danger to all aboard. Zoro took his dressing-down silently, letting Chopper continue until the little reindeer ran out of indignation and breath. Then the swordsman just said quietly, “You’re right. So what’s to be done now?”

Chopper regarded him, and folded his arms. “We start by you telling me everything about this, about what’s been going on. How long have you been having these nightmares, and not sleeping properly?”

Zoro considered. “I guess… Since we left the last island. At least, I don’t remember having any before then.”

“The last island?” Chopper’s gaze fell onto Zoro’s left hand. The swordsman was scratching at his palm, absently, as if not even aware he was doing it. “Show me your hand.”

With a momentary frown of surprise, Zoro paused – then extended his left hand palm uppermost towards the doctor. Chopper scrutinised the hand carefully. “This is inflamed. Have you been scratching it like that all this time?”

Zoro looked at the hand and gave a shrug. “I don’t know. Sometimes it itches, so I guess so. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“You said you’ve been having these dreams since we left the island. And the only thing that happened there, was that you got stung by that cone shell.” Chopper was frowning with thought. “That seems like too big a coincidence for the two things not to be related.”

“That shell?” Zoro looked at him. “How could a sting from a shell make me have weird dreams?”

“I don’t know. But what other explanation is there?” Chopper gave a shake of his head. “I don’t know enough about these types of venomous shells to be sure. But maybe it might be the source of the trouble.”

“Great.” Zoro closed his hand into a fist. “So what can you do about it?”

Chopper looked less than happy. “I can apply some more of the salve that I used before, to reduce the inflammation; and bind it up again, to stop you from scratching at it. That should help it to heal more quickly. Have you noticed that your hand or arm has been painful?”

“No.” Zoro shook his head. “I’ve been training, and there’s no problem.”

“Maybe that’s a good sign.” Chopper’s expression didn’t show he believed this. “As for the dreams and the not sleeping well… I can give you something to take at night, that will help you to sleep.”

Zoro frowned. “I don’t want to be doped up.”

Chopper gave him a steady look. “Do you want to get worse, then?”

The swordsman looked away. After a moment’s silence, he answered in a flat voice, “No.”

“Then let’s try what I suggest. The worst that’ll happen is that you will feel sleepier than normal. Just be careful – don’t do any work on the ship that might be risky.”

“All right.” Zoro considered his limited options, with a sinking feeling. No more practice with his katana; waiting hand and foot on Nami; feeling drugged up to the eyeballs by whatever potion Chopper was going to give him. _Great. Kill or cure._

“Good. Let’s see how things go.” Chopper had evidently put a lot of effort into making his tone sound cheery, but that was the problem: the effort showed through. “Hold out your hand, and I’ll put on some salve.”

 

 

 

 

 

Sanji dished up supper to his nakama, who were all – bar Nami and Zoro, who was taking Nami’s supper down to her – seated around the table. It was a subdued gathering, with the usual mealtime banter and frenzy absent. After a minute or so of unnatural silence, Sanji decided to be the first to break it. “If any of you guys have got anything you need to get off your chest before Zoro comes back in here, spit it out. I’m not having this kind of crap atmosphere at the supper table.”

Quick looks around the table at each other; silence for a moment longer – until Usopp spoke up. “Okay. Is anyone else freaking out? Because I am.”

“No change there, then.” Sanji responded dismissively.

“Hey, I’m not the only one worrying about what might happen!” Usopp spread his hands defensively. “Are you guys telling me you’re not seriously giving thought to what Zoro could do, if he loses control again?”

“We’ll deal with it if it happens.” Sanji kept his temper under control with an effort.

“How?” Usopp gave him a challenging look.

“How do you think? Like me and Luffy did today. Which, by the way, no thanks to you for not appearing on the scene till it was all over.”

“Hey!” Usopp clenched his fist around his fork.

“Arguing amongst ourselves won’t help.” Robin’s voice cut firmly through their altercation. “It certainly won’t help Zoro.”

“Damn right.” Sanji glared at Usopp.

“So, what – we just act like nothing happened? When we all know that Zoro could do what he did again, to any of us? Even _Zoro_ knows he’s a danger to the rest of us.” Usopp looked around the table. “If none of the rest of you are going to say it, I will: this is a big problem, and I don’t hear anyone coming up with a solution. Other than tying Zoro up and putting him in the anchor room.”

“That’s your big idea? Keeping him tied up like a dog?” Sanji stabbed a finger at the sharpshooter. “Zoro already feels like crap about himself, about what happened. How do you think being tied up like that would affect him?”

 

“Yamero.” Luffy, who up to that point had been steadily spooning up and devouring his plateful of supper, lifted his head to glare firstly at Sanji, then at Usopp. “Stop arguing, both of you. Robin is right.” He gestured emphatically with his spoon at them. “Zoro is nakama, and he needs our help. So we help him. That’s all there is to it. Anyway, Chopper’s going to fix what’s wrong.” He gave a confident look at the little reindeer. “Eh, Chopper?”

Chopper looked anything but confident. “I’ll do my best. But without knowing exactly what the problem is, it’s difficult to fix. All we know is that it started when Zoro got stung by the cone shell, back on the island.”

Sanji felt an uncomfortable prickle of guilt at that. “That damn thing? Are you kidding me? How could that have caused all this?”

“I don’t know.” Chopper looked unhappy, as he so often did when forced to admit the limits of his medical expertise. “I don’t know much about cone shells and their venom, or how to treat the effects. I’m doing what I can, but… it could be things will get worse before they get better.”

“So what are we supposed to do, then?” Sanji felt a growing sense of frustration. “Sit around and watch as Zoro gets sicker and sicker? You’re a doctor, how about helping him instead of making excuses about what you don’t know!”

“Sanji.” Robin spoke softly. “Chopper is doing the best that he can.”

 

Sanji subsided. He looked at Chopper: the little reindeer was flushed with misery, his shoulders drooping. Taking a deep breath, Sanji tried to undo the damage of his words. “I’m sorry, Chopper. I’m just – frustrated.” _Worried._

“We all are,” said Robin.

Chopper, summoning his courage, looked first at Sanji, then around the table. “I know it doesn’t sound good. But really, it’s all I can do, for now. I’ve got books, I’ll read through every one and see if they say anything more about this sort of thing. And I’m treating the things I can. But for now, it’s going to be mostly about waiting to see how things go.”

“Practically, there are things we ought to do.” Robin rested one elbow on the table, propping her chin on it. “We shouldn’t leave Zoro alone, if he’s likely to have these episodes at any time. There should always be one of us with him, at all times.”

“Babysitting the marimo? Fuck, that’s gonna be fun,” muttered Sanji.

Robin nodded. “Day and night. We’ll have to take it in turns.”

“But what are we supposed to do if he starts going crazy?” protested Usopp.

“In your case, scream like a girl and pass out, most likely,” Sanji responded sourly.

Robin quelled them both with a look. “Just do what you did today: call for help, and try to make sure that Zoro doesn’t hurt anyone… Or himself. He hasn’t got his katana any more, so that makes it safer.”

“We should stash the weapons from the anchor room, too.” Sanji was already thinking ahead: his eye fell on his rack of kitchen knives. “Anything that might be dangerous.”

“Good. Then we’re agreed.” Robin looked at Luffy. “What do you think, Luffy?”

Their captain gave a nod. “Like I said. We’re his nakama. We help him. And Zoro will get better soon, so there will be no problem.”

 

There was an uneasy silence at the table following Luffy’s words. Into the silence came the creak of the galley door opening, followed by Zoro walking into the room. He shut the door and paused, looking at his silent nakama around the table: one corner of his mouth quirked into a smile that had very little humour in it. “You’re all unusually quiet. Should I go out and come in again, give you all a chance to finish talking about me?”

Sanji stood to dish up a portion of supper onto a plate, setting it at the swordsman’s place at the table. “Shut up, idiot; come and eat supper before it gets cold.”

Zoro set down the tray he’d used to carry Nami’s supper down to her, before slowly sitting at the table and picking up his fork. Looking at the food unenthusiastically, he took a mouthful… before raising his gaze to look around the still unnaturally-quiet table. “You might as well say whatever you need to.”

“There’s no need to say anything,” answered Sanji, scowling as he ate his own food. “This is supper time: everyone just eat supper.”

“It’s okay.” Zoro gave a half-shake of his head. “I know you must have been trying to work out what to do, about this. About me. So let’s hear it.”

“Chopper will do what he can.” Robin spoke levelly. “And we will help, too. In the meantime, it’s best that one of us is with you… at all times. To make sure that if you have another of these… waking dreams, that nothing happens. To you or to anyone else.”

Zoro looked at his dark-haired crewmate, grateful for her simple clarity. “Yeah. I figured something like that.” He tried not to let the sinking feeling in his chest show on his face. _Basically they’re saying, We have no idea how to fix this… So all we can do is watch you and wait to see what happens next._ Aloud, he said, “So I get a twenty-four hour chaperone service. Great. Who’s up first?”

Sanji heard the forced nonchalance in the swordsman’s tones: the effort to make the best of an unnegotiable situation. He decided to step up to the plate. “I’ll do it. You can lend me a hand with washing up.” He met Zoro’s gaze with a steady one of his own. “Make yourself useful.”

 

 

 

 

 

An uneasy quiet held for some time after supper. With their nakama dispersed, the cook and the swordsman washed up and cleared away together but with little conversation. It was only when the work was nearly finished, that Zoro spoke more than a monosyllable. “So… At what point are you all planning to tow me behind the ship on a raft?”

“When you start feeling sorry for yourself.” Sanji wanted to nip this in the bud.

Zoro let out a short laugh. “Hah… Then I won’t worry about it any more.”

“We’re not about to pitch you overboard, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Sanji slid a stack of plates back onto a shelf. “Though seriously: there are times I’ve been tempted, before now. But luckily for you this crew works on democracy, of a sort. And the general opinion seems to be that getting rid of you would be more trouble than it’s worth.”

“That’s cheering to know.” Zoro, holding a cleaned pan, looked around blankly for its home: Sanji gestured at a cupboard. “Though when I walked in here at suppertime, I didn’t exactly miss the atmosphere.”

“They’re on edge. Can you blame them?” Sanji gave him a look.

“No.” Zoro slid the pan home. “I don’t blame them at all. They should be.” He leaned against the cupboard, his eyes roaming around the galley. “They damn well should be.” His eyes rested on a space: Sanji’s empty knife rack. Sanji noticed his look; saw the frown, then the understanding come into the swordsman’s expression. “O… Clearing the decks, huh?”

“Don’t take it personally.” Sanji had done it the first moment he could, while the others had been busy clearing the supper table. “Just, you know; edged weapons and unpredictable swordsmen: not a good combination.”

Zoro let out a long breath. “Thanks for pointing that out.”

“Don’t pout. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just safer to take precautions.”

Zoro looked at him. “Why the hell would you trust me? _I_ don’t trust me, right now. Locking up your knives is a smart move. Locking up every weapon on this ship is a smart move.” At Sanji’s look, Zoro caught himself, then gave a grim smile. “Right. That’s being taken care of too. You guys are thinking straight, for once.”

Sanji picked up the kettle and filled it with water, set it on the stove. “We’re all feeling our way forward here. Feel free to offer suggestions at any point.”

“I did, but neither you or Luffy were up for it.”

“Other than that, fuckwit. Don’t start with that crap again.” Sanji moved to the table, and drew out his cigarettes. “Sit down, you’re making the place look untidy.”

 

Zoro slowly moved to the table, and sat opposite him. “So… Now what?”

Sanji shrugged, lighting up. “I never babysat a grown man before, I have no idea. How do you feel about charades?”

“Suddenly I feel a violent episode coming on.”

Sanji grinned. “Strip poker?”

Zoro rested his chin wearily on one hand. “Fuck, this is going to be a long night.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Sanji nodded towards the kettle on the stove. “I’ll make some tea. We’ll drink some tea, and have a conversation – you know, that thing that people do when they can’t think of anything else to pass the time. Afterwards, we go to sleep. Then in the morning, we wake up. Life goes on. You can train – I think we can allow that weights don’t count as deadly weapons – and enjoy your new life as Nami’s personal slave. We sail on to the next island. And so on.”

“I notice you don’t include, ‘And you recover from being crazy’ in the plan of events.”

“Well, that’s a given. I didn’t think I needed to mention it.” Sanji got up to lift the kettle from the stove, and pour hot water into a waiting teapot. Bringing it and two cups back to the table, he sat down again. “Anyway, I think the best way to handle this is one step at a time. Tonight: drink tea, then sleep. Don’t think any further ahead than that, for now.”

“Sleep? Shit…” Zoro looked away. “I wish.”

Sanji eyed him: the dark shadows under the swordsman’s eyes matched the bruises on his face. “You look to me like you’ll go out like a light, once you lie down.”

“Doesn’t seem to work out that way.” Zoro gave a half-shake of his head. “I lie awake for ages… And when I do finally fall asleep, that’s when the dreams come.” He took a breath. “And then I wake up… Fuck, let’s just say, I’m glad to wake up.”

“At least it’s sleep.” Sanji couldn’t think of anything more encouraging to say. “You’ve got to sleep. Crap, you look like you could sleep for a month.”

“Yeah, well…” Zoro shook his head again. “The amount of hours I’ve laid in my hammock lately listening to everyone around me snoring, you wouldn’t believe. That’s why I wound up pulling so many night watches: I felt like if I had to spend one more night below decks staring at the inside of my eyelids, I’d go crazy.” He paused, as if hearing himself, then let out a breath. “Well, yeah… As it happens…”

 

Sanji poured green tea into the two cups; slid one across the table. “Well, like I said: you’ve got to sleep. So make up your mind to it.” Watching the swordsman’s grim expression, a thought occurred to him. “If sleeping below decks is too difficult, sleep in here.” At Zoro’s quick look, Sanji shrugged. “Why not? You’ve done it before. And as I’m pulling the night shift babysitting you, I don’t mind sleeping up here with you. If you can’t sleep, or if you wake up, then it’s no problem: you won’t be disturbing anyone. I don’t mind.” He saw Zoro’s eyes suddenly widen: an expression that was almost like dread appear fleetingly on the swordsman’s face. “What?”

“It – Nothing.” Zoro looked down at the cup of tea standing on the table in front of him, frowning.

Sanji narrowed his eyes, a sudden memory surfacing, of the night they’d spent together in the galley over a week ago. Zoro’s violent awakening: the swordsman standing in the lamplight, his hands clenched into shaking fists. Carefully, he repeated, “I don’t mind. If you wake up, if you need to talk; whatever. It’s fine.” At Zoro still not looking up, Sanji sighed. “I know you said you didn’t want to talk about this… But that night, the other week, when we… slept in here. You had a dream then, didn’t you? A bad one.”

There was a pause. The Zoro gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

“How bad are we talking, on a scale of one to ten?”

Zoro lifted his head then; glancing across the room, he said in a level voice, “Let’s just say, it’s a good thing you’ve taken your knives away.”

Sanji made the connection then. Knives. _His_ knives. He remembered reaching out to take Zoro’s hand, after the swordsman had cut it on the broken wine bottle: Zoro backing up from him so fast it took both of them by surprise. “Okay.” His voice surprised him, at how steady it sounded. Because _Okay_ was something this definitely was not, on any level. He found himself wondering exactly how he had featured in Zoro’s nightmare, himself with a knife; then cut the thought dead. _It won’t help him if I start having nightmares too._ “Well… I guess wherever you sleep, you’ll most likely have the dreams. So it might as well be in here.”

Zoro looked at him. “Great.”

Sanji picked up his tea and took a swallow. “Remember what I said, a little while ago? About feeling sorry for yourself? Don’t make me build that raft, craphead.”

After a moment, a wry smile broke on Zoro’s face. He too picked up his cup of tea, and took a drink.

 

 

 

 

When they finally made up a bed on the floor and settled down in the dark after Sanji had turned out the lamp, it felt like an eerie echo of the time those nights before… Except without the prelude of making love. Zoro lay on his side, his back to the cook; still but evidently not relaxed. Sanji listened to the sound of the swordsman’s breathing, in the dark: felt the tension radiating off him in waves.

 _Fuck this. Fuck every damn thing about it._ Sanji was exhausted by maintaining his relentlessly determined front, in the teeth of everything that had happened. That was still happening. The shock of Nami being attacked. His nakama’s reactions. Zoro’s predicament: worse, Zoro’s apparent readiness to sacrifice himself rather than take the risk of fighting whatever the hell this thing was.

 _Well, fuck that too._ If Sanji was exhausted, that had to be nothing compared to what Zoro was feeling. What he had been going through, these last couple of weeks, on his own. Despite being amongst his nakama. At this thought, Sanji moved: shifted slightly closer to Zoro, moulding his body against the swordsman’s back. Slid one arm over and round his lover’s waist, resting his hand on Zoro’s stomach: feeling the tension there. The wariness that hummed in Zoro’s entire body, like a taughtly-strung bow.

“Hey.” He breathed this softly against Zoro’s neck. “Relax, idiot. Let go.” His hand moved gently against the swordsman’s stomach. “Go to sleep.”

After a few seconds, he felt the tension in the body against his ease up a little. Heard Zoro let out a long, long breath. Sanji let his hand go still; but left it resting where it was.

_One step at a time._


	11. Running Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watch and wait isn’t the easy option… But it’s the only one there is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to post a note on the beginning here, to say a big ginormous Thank You to all those of you lovely people on AO3 who've been reading so far, and leaving kudos and comments. It's really great to get the feedback, and gets me motivated to post up new chapters sooner rather than later. This tale started out a teeny plot bunny after a conversation I had with my sister about being stung by a weaver fish... And then add in the random craziness that is the Grand Line and One Piece, and well, it's still unfolding.  
> And just in case you're wondering... Cone shells are real, and really do sting. So be careful what you pick up at the seaside. Even if you happen to be a virtually indestructible swordsman who doesn't know the meaning of the words 'proceed with caution'. ;o)

_I’m calling for the Sandman_  
 _But I don’t think he’s in town_  
 _‘Cause all these sleepless nights_  
 _Have running thoughts, have got me down_

-       _The Dirty Heads_

 

\-----

 

Something jolted Sanji awake. For a moment he lay in the dark, brain unwillingly powering up from the depths of sleep. Cold air reached his side: he automatically groped for the blanket, to pull it around himself. Instead his hand touched a solid body, sitting upright next to him. He held still a moment, his fingers resting on Zoro’s skin; waited for his consciousness to completely assemble itself. When it had, he spoke. “Mhh… What time is it?”

There was a brief pause before Zoro spoke. “Early.” His voice was steady, but the effort showed.

“Okay…” Sanji considered for a moment. “So, there’s no need to get up just yet. Lie down and see if you can get back to sleep.”

Zoro didn’t move for several seconds, and Sanji wondered if the swordsman was going to ignore his advice. Then Zoro shifted, lying heavily back down on his side in their makeshift bed. Sanji felt for the edge of the blanket and pulled it back up over them both. That done, he drew in close against Zoro’s back, as he had done when they’d gone to sleep. He slid his arm around Zoro’s body again, this time resting his hand on the swordsman’s ribs. He was surprised to feel a thudding beneath his fingertips: the swordsman’s heartbeat, racing as if he’d run a marathon. And Zoro was sweating, too: his skin was damp with it.

“Dream?” Sanji spoke quietly.

“Yeah.” Zoro’s reply was prompt but didn’t invite further enquiry.

Sanji sighed. He rested his forehead lightly against the back of his lover’s neck. “Maybe if you go back to sleep, you won’t have any more before morning.”

Zoro sighed too, almost an echo of Sanji’s. But he lay still. Slowly Sanji felt the hard race of Zoro’s heartbeat slow to something like its normal measure.

 

 

 

 

 

When morning proper came, Sanji woke as soon as the first light found its way through the galley portholes. When he propped himself up on his elbow, he saw Zoro was also awake, lying on his back gazing at the ceiling. “Whuhh…” Sanji yawned. “Morning.”

Zoro’s gaze shifted to him. “Morning.” He still looked as tired as he had the night before. Sanji wondered if he’d managed to fall back asleep after his nightmare, but knew better than to ask. Instead he settled for giving Zoro a quick smile, before pushing back the blankets. “Okay. Breakfast in half an hour. Any requests?”

Zoro shrugged. “Coffee.”

Sanji stood up and began pulling on his clothes. “When have I not made coffee for breakfast, dumbass? I meant anything in particular you fancied to eat.”

“Coffee’s what I want more than anything right now.” Zoro sat up and reached for his shirt. “That stuff Chopper gave me to take last night has given me a worse hangover than an all-night drinking session. My head feels like it’s full of fog.”

Sanji slid on his shoes. “At least you got some sleep.”

Zoro grunted. Sensing that attempts to see the positive side of things were not going to be well-received until at least coffee was forthcoming, Sanji turned his attention to preparing breakfast.

 

 

 

 

Zoro had expected being watched over by his crewmates to be tiresome. What he hadn’t expected was Usopp volunteering to take the next shift. When Zoro had announced his intention to do some weight training, Usopp shifted about a bit in his seat at the breakfast table, before declaring in over-hearty tones, “Ah, then I’ll come and spot you. I’ve always wanted to get familiar with a fitness routine, to develop my stamina.”

There was a thoughtful silence around the table, while more than one of Usopp’s crewmates looked at him dubiously. Sanji let out a snort, before pouring himself a cup of coffee. Usopp flushed a little under the reception of his declaration, but stuck to his guns. “All fearless pirates need to be strong! This will be an excellent way for me to improve my powers.”

Zoro regarded the sharpshooter with a less-than-enthusiastic expression. “Fine. Just don’t get in my way. I don’t want to be responsible for dropping a weight on your head.”

Usopp folded his arms. “My reactions and dexterity are second to none. You can count on me.”

“Whatever.” Zoro pushed his chair back, before standing and heading for the door. When Usopp also stood, Zoro paused in the doorway to shoot him a look. “First I’m heading to the bathroom, idiot. I seriously don’t need a chaperone in there.”

“Sure! See you on deck in ten, then!” Usopp sat down again. As the door shut behind Zoro, Usopp became aware of the gazes of his nakama resting on him. He folded his arms and looked belligerently back. “What?”

“Develop your stamina?” Sanji shook his head. “You must think Zoro’s even dumber than he looks.”

Usopp met his scornful look with a steady one of his own. “I don’t think he’s dumb at all. It just seemed nicer than saying, ‘Hey, I’ll take the next turn on Crazy Swordsman Watch.’ ”

“He’s not crazy.” Sanji said this through gritted teeth.

“I know that.” Usopp said simply. At Sanji’s look, Usopp shrugged. “Look, I may not be the smartest guy in the world; and I know I said some stuff last night that was… fucked up. Heat of the moment. But now? Zoro’s my nakama. I feel bad about what’s happening to him. I want to help. And this is what I can do to help, right now.”

There was a small silence at the table. Then a slow smile came onto Sanji’s face. “Okay.”

 

 

 

 

 

Having Usopp as a workout partner proved as useless as Zoro had suspected it would be. After the first ten minutes, Zoro set down his weights deliberately, before turning to the sharpshooter. “Hey.”

Usopp gamely straightened up from where he’d been standing with outstretched hands, apparently poised to take Zoro’s weights from him if the swordsman needed him to. Not that Zoro would have done that, of course, because the likeliest outcome would have been Usopp pitching over backwards to be pinned to the deck by the barbell. “Uh - yeah?”

Zoro gestured to one side with his thumb. “Quit lurking behind me. You have to hang out here with me, fine: I get that. But I don’t need any help with this. Find something useful to do, or chill out; whatever. Just stop… hovering.”

Usopp looked momentarily deflated… But he quickly rallied. “Well – I guess I could bring my toolkit out here, I’m working on a new - ”

“Yeah, good idea.” Zoro interrupted quickly, not wanting to lose precious workout time to one of Usopp’s interminable technical explanations, which he doubted he would understand anyway. “Fetch it out here, there’s plenty of room for you to work.”

 

Once Usopp had his tools and his latest piece of mechanical experimentation spread out on the deck, things went a lot more smoothly. The sharpshooter relaxed as he settled into his work, humming a tune. Zoro could live with that: it was a lot less distracting than a flow of chatter, anyway. He bent his concentration onto his training routine.

As it happened, he needed all his focus. Despite the coffee he’d drunk at breakfast, the groggy feeling he’d had since getting up made training an uphill task. His movements didn’t flow: his muscles began to ache. And pushing himself harder seemed to make little difference. It took him twice as long as normal to get through his routine, and at the end of it he was glad to sit on the deck and towel the sweat off his face. As he did so, his eye fell on Usopp. The sharpshooter was engrossed in tweaking something fiddly in the midst of a complicated arrangement of metal tubing, with a selection of miscellaneous small metal and glass parts spread out beside him on a square of cloth on the deck. In spite of himself, Zoro’s curiosity was aroused. Maybe it was something to do with how intent Usopp was on his work: seeing someone so absorbed in something made you want to know more about it. “Hey. What is that thing?”

Usopp looked up. “Hmm? This?” He parked a screwdriver behind his ear, and held his creation up in one hand. “This is my latest invention: Usopp’s ultra long distance sharpshooting scope.” He grinned proudly. “Once I’ve got it working, I’ll be able to zero on targets that are three miles away!”

Zoro regarded the scope. “Not working yet, then.”

“No – but I’m sure with a few adjustments, it soon will be.” Usopp’s boundless optimism beamed out of his face. “And then… watch out, all our enemies!”

Zoro considered for a moment. “You said you reckon it’ll have a range of nearly three miles?”

“At least!”

“Only… we don’t have any kind of weapon on this ship that’s capable of reaching anywhere near half that distance.” Zoro thought this was worth pointing out, although he wasn’t trying to undermine Usopp’s efforts.

“Ah! Yes! Indeed!” Usopp agreed, emphasising his words with an upraised finger. Then he paused, and appeared to be mulling something over. After a few moments of evident creative thought, he continued, “And obviously that’s something I will address, once I’ve completed work on the scope.”

Zoro regarded him with one corner of his mouth hitching up into a smile. “Yeah. That might be a good idea.”

Usopp carefully laid the tubing down on the piece of cloth. “Well… The scope will be useful for lots of other things, too. For… looking at stuff. Far away stuff.”

“Kind of like a spyglass,” Zoro pointed out.

“Yes. But with a far higher degree of resolution and accuracy over long distances. And the added benefit of being able to be mounted over a cannon or other long-range weapon, once we’ve got something on board that will fire over that kind of range…” Usopp trailed off: looked fixedly at the scope where it lay, then let out a sigh. “Or. Um.” He looked up at Zoro, a wry look coming onto his face. “Shit. _Exactly_ like a spyglass.”

 

Zoro propped one elbow on his knee. “It… looks good.” He felt Usopp needed encouragement. “Shiny and stuff.”

“That was definitely one of my design priorities.” Usopp shut his eyes for a moment, then plucked his screwdriver from behind his ear and tossed it onto the deck. “Fuck. I’ve just spent three weeks reinventing the spyglass.”

Zoro grinned. “At least you realised before spending another week on it.”

Usopp grinned sheepishly back at him. “You wouldn’t believe how long it took me to get those lenses calibrated.”

“Probably not.” Zoro didn’t think it worth mentioning that he also would not have had the slightest idea what calibrating was.

“O well…” Usopp let himself sit back on his elbows, stretching out on the deck. “Now I can forget about working and just lie here in the sun with an easy conscience.”

“You could have done that anyway.”

“Nah. Not with you sweating your guts out next to me.” Usopp nodded at Zoro’s weights lying beside them on the deck. “You through with that for now?”

“Yeah.” Zoro flexed his shoulders. “I’m done.” He glanced up at the sun, assessing the time: getting on for noon. “It’ll be lunchtime soon, I guess. Time for me to go wait on Nami.”

 

Raising his eyebrows, Usopp said, “Now that’s a job I don’t envy you.”

Zoro shrugged. “Considering what I did, I’m getting off lightly.”

Usopp regarded him. “You didn’t do it on purpose. It was… well, an accident, sort of. I mean, you were sick. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

“Yeah. But Nami’s got a hole in her shoulder that I put there.”

“What… _did_ you see, when it happened?” Usopp asked, looking intently at him. “Do you remember any of it?”

Zoro looked down at his hands, resting on his knees. “Not a whole lot. Just… that I was being attacked. By someone, with sword. They were coming at me: I saw the blade, saw this – figure, like a silhouette. So I tried to take them out. Which must be when I – when Nami got hurt. And then Sanji kicked me in the head, so that was pretty much it.” He felt the silence after he’d spoken: looked up to see Usopp watching him with a sober expression. “Wish he’d kicked me sooner.”

“It sounds… freaky. Someone coming at you with a sword?” Usopp pulled a face.

“Yeah, well… It’s a familiar scenario.” Zoro gave a mirthless smile. “It’s pretty much all I dream about at the moment. You guys have taken my katana away, but on the plus side I’m still getting plenty of fighting practice in my sleep.”

Usopp nodded slowly. “That sucks.”

Zoro looked away across the deck, out to sea. “Tell me about it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An evening breeze ruffled the page of Robin’s book, making her place her hand upon it to still the fluttering paper. She looked up at the Going Merry’s flag, dancing at the top of the mast. From what she could tell, the wind was changing direction again. She sent a mental wish for the change to be favourable.

A footstep sounded beside her: a moment later, Sanji’s voice spoke. “An apéritif, before supper?” He bent into her view, proffering a tray upon which stood a wine glass of ruby-coloured liquid. “Kir, with my compliments.”

Robin gave him a smile, before graciously taking the glass. “How lovely. Thank you.” She took a sip. “Mmm. Delicious.”

Sanji gave a nod of acknowledgement, before tucking the now-empty tray under one arm and reaching for his cigarettes. “It’s best made with champagne… But I had a dry white wine that I thought would be almost as good. The secret is finding a really good quality crème de cassis. I picked up some great stuff in Alabasta, of all places. Turns out they love all those fruit syrups, use them in just about everything.”

“The food there is certainly one of my better memories of that time.” Robin took another sip of her drink.

Sanji gave her a quick look. “Yeah… I guess so.”

“Have you taken one of these to Nami as well? I think she would like it.”

“Of course.” Sanji lit his cigarette. “Or rather, Zoro has taken hers down to her. Currently I’m having to yield that pleasure to him.”

A smile played about Robin’s lips. “I suspect he may not be finding it as much of a pleasure as you do.”

Sanji snorted. “With an oaf like him, I think you’re probably right.”

 

There was a minute or two of silence, before Robin said quietly, “It’s a worrying time.”

Looking at her, Sanji breathed out a slow stream of smoke. “…Yeah.” He dropped his gaze to the book in her lap. “You’ve studied history… Cultures and folk tales from all over the Grand Line. Have you ever come across something like this before?”

“No.” Robin slowly closed her book.

“When Chopper said he’d read up about it, go through his medical textbooks, I thought: yeah, there’s got to be _something_ there.” Sanji gave a half-shake of his head. “He’s been at it all day. Not a damn thing. Other than what we already know: you get stung by a cone shell, put it in hot water, makes everything better…” His mouth tightened.

“Just because Chopper hasn’t found any answers yet, doesn’t mean there are none to be found.” Robin gazed up at him steadily.

“It’s just… Bad _dreams?”_  Sanji gave a grim smile. “Of all the crap that could cause us trouble, it has to be something that isn’t even real?  How the hell do we fight something that isn’t real?”

 

Robin pondered for a moment, before speaking. “Let me ask you something. Are thoughts real?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“My thoughts. Your thoughts. Are they real? They seem to exist only in our minds. So are they real?”

Sanji frowned. “Well, you can’t touch them. You can’t do anything physical with them. Like you said, they’re just in our heads. So… no, I guess not.”

“Yet if we have a sad thought, we feel sad. If we have an angry thought, we feel anger: we may even act out that anger. If we have a happy thought, we feel happiness; we do things that make others around us happy. How are those things not real?”

“I guess they are... In a way.” Sanji tried to follow her logic.

“Just because a thought or a dream doesn’t seem to be something we can touch in this physical realm, doesn’t mean they’re not real on some level. Who knows where such things come from, or what their purpose is: but for ourselves, they are as real as any other part of our experience as a human being.”

Sanji thought of Zoro’s heartbeat, racing beneath his fingertips. “I guess you’re right.”

“It doesn’t sound as though that reassures you, however.” Robin gently turned her wineglass between the fingers of one hand, looking up at him.

“No. It makes sense. But... it doesn’t change anything. We’ve still got a big problem. Because real or not, how do you make dreams go away?”

“By staying awake.” One corner of Robin’s mouth lifted momentarily, although her eyes were sober.

“Yeah. I think we’ve established that Zoro’s attempts at trying that didn’t end well.” Sanji exhaled smoke forcefully.

“Yes. No-one can manage for long without sleep.” Robin shook her head. “Not even Zoro.”

“So what the hell is the answer?”

“Patience.” Robin looked at him. “And trusting that a solution will present itself, in time.”

Sanji blew an angry stream of smoke into the air and watched the breeze carry it away. “That seems to be everyone’s response. We sit tight and wait to see what happens. Meantime, Zoro’s the one who has to hold on till we either figure this thing out or - ” He broke off.

“You know he’s strong.” Robin spoke quietly. “Maybe you have to trust that as well, Sanji-kun.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next day saw Nami rejoining her nakama at the breakfast table, shoulder still bandaged but her mood determined. “If I have to look at my bedroom ceiling or Zoro’s face any longer, I’ll jump overboard. There’s no reason for me to be stuck in bed: I’m only temporarily short an arm, and as long as my chore boy - ” she gestured with her thumb at Zoro “ – attends to his duties, I’ll manage fine.”

With their navigator back in circulation, things on board fell back into a semblance of normal routine. The Going Merry sailed onwards, with Nami predicting landfall within a week if the weather stayed favourable. The Mugiwara went about their daily chores, Zoro taking his usual share except for night watch; by day his nakama took turns hanging out with him as unobtrusively as possible, while Sanji slept by his side at night.

The dreams continued. Most nights Sanji was woken in the early hours of the morning, either to find Zoro sitting upright alongside, or a space beside him where the swordsman had been. Sometimes Sanji would get up too: light the lamp and put the kettle on the stove, sitting down at the table and getting out his smokes, saying nothing while Zoro sat with his head propped on one hand, staring groggily at nothing in particular. Other times Sanji stayed lying down, eyes closed; eventually he would feel Zoro return and lie down again. Then Sanji would slide his arm wordlessly around the other man, drawing him back into warmth.

 

Chopper never ceased his efforts to find a cure. The little doctor read until he fell asleep on his books at the kitchen table: proffered increasingly soporific potions until Zoro staged a mild rebellion and stated that if he took anything stronger he would sleepwalk overboard without realising it.

Despite Chopper’s medicines, it was clear that far from improving, Zoro’s inability to sleep properly was still deteriorating. Feeling somewhat ragged around the edges himself from repeated early morning waking, Sanji found himself wondering how the swordsman was still capable of functioning after weeks of sleep deprivation. Zoro doggedly kept up his training routine; continued taking his share of tasks around the ship - as long as they didn’t involve working at height or using edged tools. That the swordsman was suffering showed: the dark shadows under his eyes deepened, and it was clear that his strength and concentration were impaired. The clumsiness that Sanji had noticed before became more evident, as did lapses in Zoro’s concentration. The only thing that seemed to help was sleep, but as that came with the side effect of nightmares, Zoro yielded to it reluctantly, even with the help of Chopper’s night-time sedative.

 

 

 

 

A few days after Nami had rejoined her nakama, Sanji came to the supper table with his hands full of bowls of steaming kake soba, which he proceeded to set in front of each of his nakama. When he reached Zoro he paused. The swordsman sat with his head resting on folded arms on the table, snoring deeply.

“Tchh.” Sanji placed the bowl of noodles before the slumbering swordsman, before delivering a light cuff to the back of the green head. “Oi, marimo, wakey-wakey. Eat first, then sleep.”

Zoro’s head lurched up: he blinked, then stared muzzily at the steaming bowl in front of him. “Hm? ‘S’it morning already?”

“No: supper time, idiot.” Sanji set a dish of fish cakes in the centre of the table for everyone to help themselves from, before sitting down with his own bowl of food. “Eat up before it gets cold.” Zoro blinked again, before picking up his bowl of noodles and broth.

 

Nami reached out and took a fish cake, placing it in her bowl. “I’ve been checking our progress. It looks like we’ll make landfall the day after tomorrow.”

Everyone looked up at this: then at each other. Sanji glanced at Zoro: the swordsman was frowning slightly.

“That’s good news.” Robin smiled at Nami.

“What kind of place are we arriving at?” asked Usopp.

“It’s called Suvarou Island. According to the chart I’ve been working from, it’s fairly big: there’s a town with a port, as well as smaller villages.” Nami shrugged. “Apart from that, I have no idea. Judging by how the temperature and the weather are acting, I’m guessing that it’s a spring island.”

“Let’s hope it’s big enough to have a decent market. We’ll need to stock up on pretty much everything,” commented Sanji.

“As soon as we dock, I’ll ask for directions to a good doctor,” said Chopper.

Sanji gave the little reindeer a look, before glancing again at Zoro. The swordsman was concentrating on his food, and didn’t appear to have heard Chopper’s statement. Sanji looked back to Chopper. “Yeah. Good idea.”

 

Zoro had in fact heard Chopper’s intention, but didn’t feel much like responding. As he kept his gaze turned down on his bowl of noodles, he let his nakama’s chatter wash over him, tuning out the actual words. Nami’s announcement was one that he should have felt relieved at, he knew: reaching the next island did mean a chance of finding someone who might be able to offer something more useful than sleeping draughts for curing his current state. Yet enthusiasm was hard to find through the fatigue that now occupied him. Letting the conversation around the supper table blur into background noise took no effort at all. It was staying awake long enough to eat that took some doing.

His eyes ached. He let them close for a moment, just for the space of a couple of breaths. Opened them again, lifting his bowl and digging into his supper with his chopsticks. Then his gaze fell on what he was about to put into his mouth.

A giant centipede, red-brown and shiny and wriggling between his chopsticks. His eyes dragged down to the bowl he was holding. A writhing mass of creatures, tangled and seething: centipedes, scorpions, cockroaches, larvae. Heaving within the bowl, climbing over each other, moving towards its edge where his hand held the smooth china.

His stomach clenched. Zoro jerked to his feet, dropping the bowl to the floor along with the chopsticks he’d been about to bring to his mouth. “Uhh! ”

 

The smash of the bowl killed all conversation, as the Mugiwara stared wide-eyed at Zoro. For a few seconds there was no sound except Zoro’s hard breathing. Then the swordsman lifted his own gaze, to find his nakama watching him worriedly. He looked around, then down at the floor.

 

The broken pieces of his bowl lay mixed with the remains of soba noodles, amongst a spreading stain of spilled broth.

 

Zoro blinked; then put a hand up to his eyes. When he lowered it, his crewmates were still watching him with concern.

It was too much. He didn’t have the words to explain, that wouldn’t sound any crazier than how he’d already acted. “…Sorry.” He went down on one knee, scooping up the broken china and spilled food in his hands.

Sanji was quickly there beside him, reaching out with a dishtowel to mop at the spilled broth. “Here. I’ll get - ”

Zoro stood again quickly, drawing back. He dropped the pieces of broken bowl and spoiled food into the waste bin. When he turned back to face his nakama, they were still watching him. He swallowed: he had no appetite left now. Moving quickly he made for the door, escaping outside.

 

Sanji slowly walked to the sink, dropping in the dish towel he’d used to wipe the floor. Then he returned to the table and sat down, letting out a sigh. For a few moments there was an uneasy silence: slowly, the Mugiwara resumed their meal, nobody speaking. At last, Chopper said uncertainly, “Shouldn’t we go and see if he’s all right?”

“Zoro is okay,” Luffy answered, through a mouthful of food. “He just needs some space.”

Chopper looked unhappy. “But he just…” He trailed off.

Sanji took a mouthful of his own supper, aware he was hardly tasting it. He suspected that most of his nakama were experiencing something similar. “Luffy’s right. Leave him be.” He paused for a moment, before adding, “I’ll go out and check on him in a little while.”

 

 

 

 

 

Sanji waited until he’d served up dessert, before heading out after the swordsman. It was a clear night, with a waxing gibbous moon: plenty enough light to see the figure sitting at the foot of the steps that led down to the main deck, with his head propped in his hands. As Sanji descended the steps he saw Zoro lift his head, straightening up and folding his arms across his knees. The cook came to a halt standing on the step just above him, leaning against the rail. “There’s plenty of soba left.”

“I’m not hungry.” Zoro’s answer was in flat tones.

“Not eating won’t improve your situation.”

“What the hell will?” Zoro let out a harsh breath. “Chopper’s potions have got me walking round like a zombie, I _still_ can’t fucking sleep for more than a couple of hours at a stretch, and the damn dreams come all the time now.” His hand came up and clenched in his hair. “I can’t even eat supper without going freakshow.”

“Nonetheless: you’re going to come back and sit at the table and finish supper with the rest of us.” Sanji spoke quietly but in a voice that left no room for argument.

“Why? I told you, I’m not hungry any more.”

“Tough shit. I’ve got soba saved, keeping warm; and you need to eat, whether you want to or not. Plus you owe it to everyone in there.”

“I’m pretty sure they’d prefer to finish their supper without me.” Zoro gave a harsh laugh. “I don’t think I added to the mealtime atmosphere.”

“Get your head out of your ass.” Sanji spoke coldly. “What do you think they’re all feeling right now?”

“I’m guessing they’re probably wondering if they’ve hidden my katana well enough.”

“You complete fuckwit.” Sanji exhaled sharply. “They’re _concerned_   about you. Not freaking out, or pissed off. Understand? So that’s why you’re going to pick yourself up, go back in there and sit down and eat your supper in a civilised manner, instead of skulking out here feeling sorry for yourself.”

 

There was a long silence. Sanji watched the set of Zoro’s shoulders, mentally preparing himself for more argument or a possible fight – but then he saw the swordsman bow his head. When Zoro spoke again his voice was low. “I am seriously getting tired of this shit.”

Sanji paused for a moment. Then he moved forwards, easing himself down to sit on the step beside the swordsman. “…Yeah.”

Zoro kept his head downturned. “I’m losing it. I can feel it. Every day, everything feels less… real. And I don’t know how much time I’ve got, before I lose it all. Before all that’s real to me is the dreams.”

“Nami said we’ll make land within two days.” Sanji spoke steadily. “We’ll find a doctor who knows about this stuff, there will be a way to help - ”

“And if there isn’t one?”

“Then we’ll keep looking till we find one.”

“It better be soon.” Zoro said this quietly. “Otherwise… you guys are going to run out of options.”

Sanji felt a burn of anger spark up in him. “Don’t start in with that crap again. I told you, we will deal with this.”

“So how’re you going to deal with me, when I can’t tell what’s real any more? I won’t see you; won’t be able to hear you. All I’ll see will be enemies, and all I’ll do is try to fight them. How will you deal with that? Get Chopper to drug me unconscious? Chain me down?”

“Okay, enough with this whining crap.” Sanji gave him a hard stare. “You just have to trust us. End of. Fuck - I would’ve thought you trusted us enough by now, to believe that we can handle the shit when it goes down.”

 

Zoro met his gaze – before looking away. “I trust you. All of you. It’s… myself, that I don’t trust.”

Sanji sighed. “Look… We all know that what happened with Nami wasn’t something you had any control over. That’s why you don’t get your swords back, until all this is sorted. Damage limitation. But I’m damn sure that between us, we can handle whatever crap you pull. So stop worrying about it.” He paused for a moment, before adding in a warning growl, “And incidentally, if you ever throw another plateful of my cooking onto the galley floor, I am going to give you such a kick upside the head you won’t need any more of Chopper’s knock-out potions.”

The corner of Zoro’s mouth lifted. Sanji felt a small wave of relief flood over him. “C’mon, asshole. Your supper is going to be Luffy’s if you don’t come in and eat it now.”


	12. Get Up, Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While looking for a doctor who may be able to help Zoro, the Mugiwara get acquainted with some of the locals.

_When a sailor’s ashore, he beats his way towards some drinking house_   
_He’s welcomed in with rum and gin, and fed on pork and scouse_   
_If gold he spends he’ll never offend, till he lays drunk on the ground_   
_But when his money’s gone, it’s the same old song:_   
_Get up, Jack, get out of town!_

_-       Traditional sea shanty_

 

\-----

 

“Land ho!” Usopp’s yell from the crow’s nest brought Sanji to the door of the galley. Walking out to the rail, he looked forward: sure enough, just showing above the horizon was a ragged dark green line. Suvarou Island, just as Nami had promised.

It took only a couple of hours to sail the Going Merry close in. Nami guided them around the island’s rocky coast, navigating a careful course in through the shoals until the port town of Manu hove into view. Soon the Going Merry was tying up at the quayside, the object of much concentrated staring from assorted dockside folk.

“Looks like the locals don’t know what to make of us,” commented Usopp, leaning with folded arms on the rail and gazing down at the people regarding the ship and her crew.

“Well, no-one’s shouted _‘Pirates, quick, drive them away!’_ yet.” Nami joined him at the rail. “That’s always a win.”

“They look like nice people,” pronounced Luffy confidently. “Let’s go ashore. I need meat.”

“Whoa – wait a minute. Who’s going where?” Sanji held up a hand. “A couple of us need to stay on board, keep guard on the ship.”

“I’ll stay.” Zoro spoke up, leaning against the mainmast. At their look, he shrugged. “If we want the locals to stay friendly, it’s better I stay out of the way for the time being.”

“You’re right.” Nami nodded.

“I’ll stay with you,” offered Usopp. “I’m in no hurry to go exploring.”

“The rest of us will take a look around. It shouldn’t take long, we’ll back in a couple of hours most likely.” Nami glanced at Luffy, who was already regarding the promising new island in front of him with a familiar expression of anticipation. “I’ll stick with Luffy.”

Sanji nodded. “Then Robin and I can go with Chopper.”

 

 

 

The townspeople of Manu proved accommodating enough, though with some curiosity and wariness towards the strangers newly arrived in their midst. Robin’s diplomatic manner was invaluable on their quest for assistance as they navigated the winding streets of the town; Sanji also worked hard at charming information out of every woman they encountered. Their search was not a straightforward one, however; and after a couple of hours of making their way in and out of markets, shops and assorted buildings, they’d had little success.

Coming out of their umpteenth foray to enquire about doctors in the town, Chopper plodded heavily to a wooden bench that stood on the pavement outside and collapsed onto it, with a groan. “Another dead-end. This is getting us nowhere.”

“At least we found an actual doctor, that time.” Sanji walked up to the bench too, propping himself against its back while he lit a cigarette.

“Yes. But a doctor who specialises in pregnancy and childbirth? That’s no use!” exclaimed Chopper.

“Let’s not get discouraged,” said Robin. “We’ve by no means covered the whole town, yet.” She looked across the square that they were in. “Look: there’s a bar. That might be a good place to ask. And we can get a drink in there.”

 

 

The wooden-fronted establishment with a dark and cosy interior was evidently popular. Customers sat around tables and lined the bar itself, and there was a steady hum of conversation and laughter, despite it being only mid-afternoon. A smell of cooking filled the air, something spicy and fried: Sanji gave the air a trial sniff. Heavy on the garlic and chilli; seafood, and something else with sweeter overtones, coconut maybe.

Behind the bar, a broad-shouldered man with a monobrow addressed Robin, who was looking the selection of drinks over. “What can I get you, sweetheart?”

Sanji bristled: beside him Robin must have sensed his irritation, because she spoke up quickly in reply. “I’ll have a glass of dry white wine. Sanji, Chopper?”

“Er… Have you got any fruit juice?” Chopper had perched on a stool to peer over the bar top. The barman regarded the little reindeer with one uplifted eyebrow. “Yeah. Orange juice okay?”

“Yes: please.”

The barman looked at Sanji, who tried to suppress his irritation and at least assume a polite front. “Pastis. Half and half with water.”

The barman grunted and moved away to get their drinks. When he returned and set the three glasses on the bar in front of them, Robin laid some money on the bar. Taking a sip of her wine, she gave him a friendly smile. “Thank you.”

“No problem, sweetheart. You want anything to go with your drinks? Some food? We got a good cook at the moment, the specials board is over there on the wall.”

“Nothing to eat just now.” Robin ran her forefinger down the side of her wine glass, drawing a line through the condensation there. “But perhaps you can help us with something else. My friends and I are trying to find someone.”

The barman’s expression grew wary. “Yeah?”

Robin smiled at him again, disarmingly. “Another of our friends has been taken ill, after being stung by a cone shell. So we’re making enquiries to find a good doctor; preferably one who knows about such injuries. We’ve been asking around town for the past few hours, but so far no-one’s been able to help us. Might you know of anyone we could speak to?”

“Cone shell sting, huh?” The barman shrugged his lips. “I don’t know about that kinda stuff… But those guys on the table over there, they’re fishermen: you could try asking them.” He pointed to a table a few yards away, where three thickset bearded men were laughing over a jug of beer and plates heaped high with food. “If you buy them a drink they might be inclined to be helpful.”

 

Taking the barman’s advice, the Mugiwara carried a full jug of beer with them as they approached the table. This time Sanji opted to broach the subject: as the three fishermen looked up suspiciously at the strangers, the cook set the jug on the table with a nod. “The barman said this was what you guys were drinking. You got a minute to talk?”

The tallest of the three regarded the beer steadily, then glanced at his friends: unspoken communication exchanged between them, then the man gave a shrug. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

“We’re looking for a doctor, someone who would know about treating cone shell stings. The barman said you guys were fishermen, that you might know of somebody like that.”

“Cone shell stings? Fuck.” The tall man poured himself a beer, before looking the three Mugiwara over. “I’m guessing that you ain’t been jabbed by one, else you wouldn’t be standing here sipping drinks in a bar.”

“A friend of ours has been stung,” answered Robin. “That’s why we need to find a doctor for him.”

“Tough luck for your friend,” commented the man.

“You know where we can find a doctor?” Sanji kept his cool with an effort, knowing that losing his temper with this moron wouldn’t gain them any answers. “Because time is of the essence.”

“I bet.” The fisherman gave a beer-sodden laugh. “Shit, Jiro… Remember when you picked that sucker up in a lobster pot and it got you a good one?” The man on his left grunted. “We had to tie you into your hammock, and you bawled like a pig being slaughtered. Those things can pack a hell of a wallop for something so small.”

 

Sanji’s eyes narrowed. Beside him Chopper spoke up nervously. “Uh, sir, we really do need to find a good doctor who can help our friend. Would you be able to give us some idea of where to look?”

The fisherman squinted at Chopper. “What the fuck are you? Some kind of performing animal?”

Chopper flushed. Sanji put a hand on his shoulder. “My _friend_   here is also a doctor. So you ought to speak to him with a little more respect, _asshole_.”

“Sanji…” Robin’s remonstrating murmur was as gentle as her hand taking hold of his arm.

“The fuck? What did you say, pencil-neck?” The fisherman stared at Sanji angrily. “Who the hell do you think you are, barging into our drinking time and handing out insults? I’ll bust you a good one, see if I don’t.”

Sanji smiled dangerously, shifting his weight more evenly onto both feet. “Bring it on, craphead.”

The fisherman’s chair scraped harshly on the floor as he got to his feet, followed seconds later by those of his two friends. Sanji held the tallest man’s gaze with his own – until Robin stepped in between them, hands lifted in a peace-making gesture. “There is no need for such unpleasantness. We didn’t come in here looking for trouble, we came looking for information.” She looked at the fishermen. “We apologise for disturbing you, and we did not mean to give offence.”

“I don’t hear your friend apologising,” commented the tall man, looking past her to where Sanji stood.

Robin turned to face Sanji, her dark eyes resting on him. He understood the message in her expression loud and clear: _We need these men to cooperate._

 

Swallowing down his anger, he cleared his throat. “Ah… I’m sorry for my rudeness.” The words almost stuck in his throat, but he knew he had to make them sound genuine. To help his case, he gave his head a quick bow. “Please accept my apology.”

There were a few seconds of silence… Before the fisherman gave a grudging grunt and dropped back down into his chair, reaching out to top up his beer. His friends joined him, with much smacking of lips. Robin gave them a few moments, before commenting politely, “It sounds as though you have great experience and knowledge of the sea. And you say you have encountered cone shells.”

“Yeah.” The fisherman licked a moustache of beer foam off his upper lip. “You don’t want to mess with them.” He jerked his thumb at his friend. “Jiro here got himself stung good that time, arm swelled up like a blowfish. Luckily we were only a few hours out of port, so we were able to bring him back here to get help.”

“So there is someone here in Manu who can help?” asked Robin.

The fisherman shrugged. “There’s an old guy lives up in the backstreets, all the sailors and fishermen go to him when they need doctoring. Kawashima’s his name. He’s a weird old bird: lives alone, got a thing about collecting sea critters. Spends half his time poking about in rock pools or haunting the fish market when he’s not dosing folks up with potions. If anyone knows how to fix up your friend, he will.”

“Then we will try him.” Robin gave him a smile. “Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome, pretty face.” The fisherman gave her what he evidently thought was a winning smile back. “Listen… Why not join me for a drink, while your friends go find the doc? No point all three of you walking up there. Relax with us: your friends can pick you up when they return.”

“Thank you again, for your offer.” Robin kept the smile on her face. “But I think I’ll have to pass. Enjoy your drink.” And keeping her hand closed firmly around Sanji’s elbow, she led the three of them out of the bar.

 

They were barely in the street outside before Sanji gave vent to his pent-up feelings. “That ugly son-of-a-bitch needs a good ass-kicking - ”

“Not our priority right now.” Robin shook her head. “Although in other circumstances, I’d be the first to agree with you.”

“So now we have to find this Dr Kawashima,” said Chopper. “Let’s hope someone can give us directions.”

 

 

As it turned out, the fisherman’s words had been true: Kawashima was evidently well-known amongst those who made their living by fishing or sea-faring, and it wasn’t long before the three Mugiwara were climbing up through the narrow lanes that wound up through the older part of town, sloping up the hillside above the port. Houses were smaller and more down-at-heel; children played in the streets, and women leaned in doorways chatting with their neighbours, pausing only to watch the three strangers walk by.

“Remind me to cross Muna off my list of places to re-visit,” muttered Sanji, after being on the receiving end of yet another sustained stare from the locals. “These folks obviously don’t get many outsiders passing through here.”

“I suppose we may look a little out of the ordinary.” Robin shrugged. “But at least people are being helpful when we ask the way.”

 

After another twenty minutes or so of uphill wandering – and retracing their steps a couple of times through the warren of backstreets – they found themselves outside a shabby-looking house. Sanji glanced at the other two, then stepped up and took hold of a rusting iron door knocker: rapped it against the weather-faded door. There was a long pause.

Chopper shifted nervously on the doorstep. “Do you think this is the right house after all?”

“Maybe he’s out rock pooling.” Sanji peered at the window to the side of the door, but the glass was dusty and a faded bamboo blind obscured any view of the space beyond.

Suddenly there was a shuffling noise from behind the door; then with a rattling sound the door scraped open. It stuck for a moment, whereupon a querulous voice behind the door sounded out irritably. “Curse the seed that the tree grew from that yielded your wood, you intransigent piece of timber!” This was followed by the sound of a smart kick, and the door jerked then scraped open the rest of the way. A thin man with a greying crewcut appeared in the doorway, from where he surveyed the trio in front of him. “Yes?”

“Are you Dr Kawashima?” asked Sanji.

The man delved into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of wire-framed spectacles, which he put on. Thus attired, he seemed to assume a more professional demeanour. “I am he. Which of you is requiring the services of a doctor?”

“None of us,” Sanji replied. Seeing Kawashima frown with puzzlement, he hastened to add, “It’s our friend, who’s back on our ship, in port.”

“Ah, you’re sailors. Or fishermen?” Kawashima nodded, then looked at Robin and frowned again. His frown deepened when his gaze moved to Chopper. “Or… Ah… You’re not from round here, are you?”

“We’re travellers,” responded Robin. Sanji was glad for her quick thinking. _Travellers_   was definitely a good call. Certainly _Hi, we’re pirates,_ never seemed to produce a favourable reception. “We arrived here in Manu today. We asked in town where to find a good doctor who might be able to help our friend, and you were recommended to us.”

Kawashima seemed unsurprised by this. “By some of our sea-going community, no doubt.” He sighed. “That seems to be the main way I get my patients, these days.”

 

Sanji wasn’t being filled with confidence by this grizzled little man. “Listen… You _are_ a doctor, right?”

“Indeed I am!” Kawashima bristled, drawing himself up to his full – not particularly impressive height. “With many years of experience, in all fields of medicine.”

“We were told that you had knowledge of how to treat sea-related injuries,” said Robin. “Our friend was stung by a cone shell, and has been unwell since. We were hoping that you could help him.”

“Cone shell sting? Dear me.” Kawashima wagged his finger at them. “Cone shell stings can be most serious, they should be treated as soon as possible. How long ago was your friend stung?”

“About six weeks ago.”

“Six weeks?” Kawashima’s eyebrows hiked up towards his stubbly hairline. “That’s a month and a half ago.”

“Well… Yeah.” Sanji felt this was stating the obvious.

“Why didn’t your friend seek treatment earlier?”

“Because we were on our way here,” responded Sanji, resisting the urge to tack the epithet, _You fucking idiot,_ onto the end of his reply.

“That’s unfortunate.” Kawashima shook his head. “The sooner such stings are treated, the better the outcome.”

“But you can treat them?” burst out Chopper, gazing at his fellow doctor beseechingly.

Kawashima looked down at him. “Well, I can try and see what can be done. What treatment has your friend already been given, if any?”

“I can tell you, everything that I’ve been doing,” said Chopper nervously. “I didn’t know what the best thing was to try, I have limited experience in this area, but there have been treatments that I thought would help…”

“You are a doctor?” Kawashima straightened his spectacles, peering at the little reindeer.

“Of course I am!” shouted Chopper, going crimson with agitation. “Why else would I be treating him, if I’m not a doctor!”

“Remarkable,” commented Kawashima, blinking.

 

Robin laid a calming hand on Chopper’s shoulder. “Dr Kawashima, Chopper here is an excellent doctor; but this fell outside the realms of his knowledge. That’s why we need your help. May we bring our friend to you?”

“Hm? Oh; yes, of course.” Kawashima nodded. “Without delay, I would suggest. Perhaps your colleague, Mr Chopper here, should remain here with me in the meantime. He can apprise me of the courses of treatment he has been using.” He gave Chopper a small bow. “My apologies, sir, for any misunderstanding. Be so good as to come into my home.”

“Right. Let’s get back to Going Merry.” Sanji was impatient to get things moving.

“We’ll return within an hour.” Robin nodded at Chopper and Kawashima.

 

 

 

As they descended back through the narrow streets to the port, Sanji broached the subject that was bothering him. “That guy, Kawashima: he doesn’t seem like he’s all there to me. You think he’ll really be able to help?”

Robin gave him a sidelong look, then a small shrug. “It’s not like we’re overburdened with options. Besides, those fishermen seemed to think highly of his medical skills.”

“Those morons? They wouldn’t know a good doctor if they tripped over one.” Sanji scowled.

“I’m not so sure. When we asked around to find where Dr Kawashima lived, many people knew of him. A man doesn’t get that well-known if he’s incompetent: he’s obviously used a great deal by seafarers in this town.”

“I hope you’re right.” Sanji shoved his hands into his pockets.

 

 

When they reached the Going Merry, it was to find Luffy sprawled asleep on the foredeck, his swollen stomach testimony to his successful meat-foraging ashore. Usopp sat cross-legged by the rail, carefully sketching the dockside scene before him. On seeing Robin and Sanji, he laid aside his sketchpad. “Hey, you’re back!” His gaze roamed behind them. “Where’s Chopper?”

“We left him up in the town. We’ve found a doctor, so Chopper stayed with him to talk about doctor stuff.” Sanji climbed over the rail, holding out a hand to assist Robin. “Where are the others?”

Usopp gestured with his thumb. “Nami wanted to work on her chart, she’s up in the galley. And Zoro’s napping on the aft deck. So you found a doctor? That’s good news.”

“Yeah.” Sanji really hoped it was. He nodded at Robin. “I’ll go roust out the marimo, get his ass up the hill to Kawashima. Without delay, like the old bird said.”

 

Sanji rounded the cabin and stepped onto the aft deck. Just as Usopp had said, Zoro was there, apparently fast asleep in the late afternoon sunshine. He was lying on his back, one arm folded under his head, the other sprawled loosely to the side. Sanji stepped up to him and paused, looking downwards. His eyes travelled over the swordsman’s face. Zoro looked sunk so deep in sleep that the cook felt almost reluctant to disturb him: but he knew it had to be done. He gently nudged Zoro with his toe. “Oi, marimo. Wake up.”

Zoro twitched; then his eyes flew open and he half-sat up, his hand groping sideways at the empty patch of deck where his katana would normally be. Sanji gave him a wry smile. “Take it easy. It’s only me.”

Zoro blinked up at him, then rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with one hand. “Mhh… What do you want, shitty cook?”

“What I _want_ is a cold drink, a hot shower and a relaxing evening sampling the menu in one of the restaurants in this town. But what I’m actually getting, is a walk back up the hill I’ve already trudged up and down once today.” He shrugged. “We found a doctor, and lucky for you he’s agreed to take a look at you. So let’s go.”

Zoro slowly got to his feet. “A doctor?” He rubbed one hand through the hair at the back of his head. “Did he… say he’d be able to help?”

“He said he’d try.” Sanji nodded towards the shore. “He also said that sooner was better than later, so we should head up there.”

Zoro looked at him a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Then let’s go.”


	13. Give You Everything I've Got

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr Kawashima has a possible cure for Zoro’s condition. But it’s not all good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After reading a recent post on Tumblr about One Piece fanfic on AO3 and elsewhere (which amongst other things commented on how discouraging it can be to post fics and not get any feedback on them), I'd like to offer huge gratitude and general warm fluffy feelings to all of you who have been reading this fic so far. If you've read this story as it's been unfolding, thank you. If you've given me kudos, thank you. If you've bookmarked it, thank you. If you've posted comments, thank you... It is all really appreciated, and it's so great to get people's feedback on this fic.
> 
> (And just in case any of you were wondering, I'm not gonna abandon this fic unfinished: chapters will keep on being posted regularly, and I will finish it.) 
> 
> Late-night scribbling... It's almost indecent how much I enjoy it. *grins wickedly*

_You know I can’t sleep, I can’t stop my brain_   
_You know it’s three weeks, I’m going insane_   
_You know I’d give you everything I’ve got_   
_For a little peace of mind_

_-       The Beatles_

 

\-----

 

Sanji half expected Zoro to question him further about Dr Kawashima, but once both men were ashore and threading their way through the town, there was no conversation. As he retraced his way through the backstreets leading uphill, Sanji wondered what Zoro was thinking about the possible outcomes of seeing the doctor. The swordsman was maintaining a typically non-expressive demeanour: no hint of what might be going on under the surface showed in his face.

When they reached Kawashima’s house, Sanji swung the heavy cast iron knocker as before, and within a few moments the door scraped open and Kawashima peered out. “Ah, you’ve returned. And your friend, also. Good, good – come in, please…” He retreated into a dark passage, beckoning them to follow after.

The two men stepped into the house, Zoro dragging the creaking door shut behind them. He glanced around the gloomy corridor, taking in the cracked old walls. His gaze met Sanji’s, one eyebrow lifted. “I’m guessing this guy doesn’t count many wealthy patients among his customers.”

“Who cares, as long as he can fix what’s wrong with you.” Sanji set off down the passage after the doctor. “Come on.”

 

They emerged into a cluttered room with a battered wooden table and chairs, an equally battered couch, a writing desk and a precarious-looking bookcase piled high with books and papers. There was a smell of herbs and medicines, and an underlying smell of preserving alcohol; all things expected in a doctor’s household. What was less expected, however, was what took up the entire wall opposite the desk: a series of sturdy shelves from floor to ceiling, laden with the shells and preserved remains and even living specimens in tanks, of sea creatures of every description. Both Sanji and Zoro stopped and stared at the collection. After a moment, Zoro said slowly, “You did say this guy was a doctor… Right?”

A footstep made them both look round. Kawashima came into the room through another door leading to the rear of the house, Chopper in tow. “I was just showing your friend my garden. Welcome to my home, please sit down.” He gestured to the scarred table and chairs. “Please: make yourselves comfortable.”

With sidelong glances at each other, Zoro and Sanji sat. Chopper joined them; Kawashima nodded towards the little reindeer. “I have had a most interesting conversation with your friend here. Most interesting.” His gaze fell on Zoro. “He tells me that you were stung on the hand by a cone shell, when your ship was anchored off an island some six weeks’ journey from here. And that you’ve been experiencing some disturbing symptoms ever since.”

“Then he tells you right.” Zoro, who had been frowning at the shelves of assorted sea life, turned his gaze to the doctor.

Kawashima glanced to where Zoro had been looking at his marine museum, then smiled. “Ah, you observed my collection. I’ve been working on it for over thirty years now. I think that without wishing to brag, I can claim that it’s probably the most comprehensive collection of marine invertebrates of the intertidal zones of this region. Of course, there remain a great many species I have yet to acquire…” He became aware that his audience was not following in his enthusiasm, and caught himself; cleared his throat. “Hm. So: a cone shell stung you?”

“Yeah.”

“What species?” At Zoro’s blank look, Kawashima modified his question. “What type of cone shell?”

“I don’t know.” Zoro shrugged.

Kawashima regarded him with a little frown. “Well, we must establish the species. Can you describe it?”

Sanji sighed; took out his cigarettes. _Good luck with that._

 

“It was this size.” Zoro held finger and thumb a couple of inches apart. “Patterned all over, with triangles and lines. Gold and brown and white.”

Kawashima’s frown deepened. “Can you be more precise? Did you observe the detail of its markings?”

Zoro’s jaw tightened. “I was kind of distracted at the time.”

“Hmm.” The doctor tapped a finger on his lip, regarding the swordsman soberly, before turning away and moving to his bookshelves. He roamed along them for a moment, his hand tracking along the spines of his books, evidently searching for something. At last he let out a satisfied sound; drew out a fat volume, blew a little dust from it and returned to the table. Opening the book, he laid it in front of Zoro. “Most of the known Conoidae of this region are covered in this work, or at least the well-described ones. Please look through: I’m fairly sure you will find your culprit in there.”

Zoro turned a page. A finely-drawn coloured illustration of a cone shell, accompanied by paragraphs of small-print text met his eyes. He studied it for a moment, then turned to the next page. Another cone shell, virtually identical to the last. Neither looked familiar. Slowly he turned the page again, gazed at a third similarly unrecognizable shell. His eyes lifted to where Kawashima was watching him with an expectant look. “Uhh… This could take a while.”

“Take your time.” The doctor sat back. “Perhaps, as you look through the book, I might ask you a few questions?”

“Go ahead.”

“First: can you tell me exactly how you were stung?”

“I picked the shell up, and it stung me on my hand.” Zoro turned over another page. “Then I dropped it.”

“Which hand?” Zoro merely extended his left hand, which still bore one of Chopper’s bandages, towards the doctor in response. Kawashima took hold of it. “I must take this off to examine the sting site. With your permission?”

Zoro grunted in assent, continuing to leaf through the book. As each new page yielded a different drawing, he studied it for a moment; but none of the cone shells pictured looked like the one he’d encountered. He felt the bandage loosen, then cool air meet the skin of his left hand. There was a tutting sound from Kawashima. “Somewhat inflamed… A typical post-envenomated reaction…”

“I’ve been applying the salve I told you about,” said Chopper. “It seems to have helped a little.”

“A good palliative, certainly. And immediately after the sting occurred: you said you used the hot water treatment?”

“Yes.”

“Certainly better than nothing at all. But how much time elapsed after the sting before you commenced this?”

 

Zoro felt Chopper nudge him: looked at the little reindeer. “Huh?”

“Dr Kawashima wants to know how long it was after you got stung, before you were able to put your hand into the hot water.”

Zoro frowned, thinking back. “Pfff… I don’t know. About half an hour to walk back to the boat, I guess… Then another ten, fifteen minutes to row back to the Going Merry. Then however long it took the cook to heat the water.”

“So perhaps an hour?” Kawashima looked troubled. “And what symptoms did you experience?”

Zoro gave him a look. “My hand hurt like hell. Then it went numb. And up my arm… Anyway, once I put it in the hot water it gradually came back to life. By the next day it was pretty much back to normal.”

“Did you experience nausea, any other symptoms such as fever?”

“Yeah, I puked for a few hours.” Zoro shifted uncomfortably in his chair, not liking to be reminded. “And I had kind of a headache. But like I said, the next day I was fine.”

“And since then, you have been experiencing sleeping difficulties, according to your friend.” Kawashima regarded him thoughtfully. “Perhaps you can tell me a little about these?”

 

Zoro suddenly became aware of Sanji and Chopper, sitting listening: a flush crept into his face. “What do you want to know?”

“As much as you can recall,” responded Kawashima. “It will help me to determine what type of cone shell venom we may be dealing with in your case.”

There was a pause. Sanji, sitting to one side, saw Zoro’s jaw tense; the swordsman’s brows pull down. With sudden realisation, the cook got up from his chair. “Chopper, why don’t you and me go take a walk outside, leave these guys to talk. Sounds like this could take a while.” At Chopper’s puzzled look up, Sanji nodded his head towards the rear of the house. “Show me Dr Kawashima’s garden.”

“O - okay.” Still looking somewhat uncertain, Chopper also rose and led the way out of the room.

 

 

 

The rear of Kawashima’s house opened out onto a small courtyard, which led in turn to the garden beyond. Sanji could see a neatly-tended vegetable plot as well as beds of flowers, while on the courtyard herbs and small shrubs grew in containers. A large amount of the courtyard's limited space was taken up by more of the doctor’s marine collection: mainly tanks of seawater, in which various animals swam or crept amongst shingle and seaweed. Sanji walked up to the tanks and studied the life within, impressed by the variety. “Wow. He really is a serious collector. I’ll bet he could tell me a lot about these.”

“He was telling me about some of them, but I didn’t really take it in.” Chopper came to stand beside him, also gazing at the creatures. “Sanji… Why did you want us to come out here?”

“Because Zoro didn’t want to talk in front of us.” Sanji blew out a long stream of smoke. “And it’s important that he tells Kawashima everything that’s been going on.”

“Oh.” Chopper was quiet for a moment.

 

“You’ve been talking with Kawashima.” Sanji looked at the little reindeer. “Do you think he’s a competent doctor, from what you can tell?”

“I think so.” Chopper frowned. “At least… He seems to know a great deal about this sort of thing. He was telling me about how he’d treated sailors and fisherman for cone shell stings before. That he was able to help them. Most of them.”

“Most of them?” Sanji didn’t like the sound of that. “What about the ones he couldn’t help?”

Chopper bit his lip. “Kawashima said… that sometimes it wasn’t possible to treat them. Either because the cone shell was too deadly, or they hadn’t sought help soon enough. That in those cases, there was little anyone could do.” At the look on Sanji’s face, he added quickly, “But he seemed hopeful that in Zoro’s case he would be able to treat him.”

Sanji returned his gaze to the tank in front of him. “Good.”

 

 

 

 

 

Zoro sat with folded arms at the table, the book about cone shells shoved to one side, trying to keep his temper at the doctor’s probing questions. The grey-haired medic was making notes in a little book. “So the nightmares began almost immediately, you say… The first night after you were stung… And have continued ever since.”

“Yeah.”

“And you started experiencing problems with sleeping within a few days, also… And this has steadily worsened.” Kawashima underlined something. “To the point where you have begun having, ah, ‘waking dreams’ as you call them?” He looked at the swordsman. “What we should properly call, _hallucinations_.”

Zoro didn’t care what they should properly be called. “Like I told you: I see things, hear things that aren’t there.”

“And these hallucinations: have they caused you to act out under their influence? Behave in ways directed by what you are seeing or hearing?”

Zoro clenched his hands into fists. “…Yes.”

“Please elaborate.” Kawashima’s pencil poised above the page.

“I attacked one of my friends, with a sword. I nearly killed her.” Zoro spoke harshly. At the doctor looking up at him, he gave an angry shake of his head. “Look – can you help me, or not? I don’t see what the point of all these questions is - ”

“I am trying to form a picture of exactly what has been happening,” said Kawashima mildly, laying his notebook and pencil on the table. At Zoro’s angry look, the doctor gave him a small smile. “I understand that to you these questions may seem intrusive: however, as a physician, every detail is of value.” He reached across the table and took hold of the book about cone shells, sliding it back in front of Zoro. “Only when we have all the facts, may we reach a useful conclusion.”

Zoro looked at the book with frustration. “I can’t tell one shell from the other, in there.”

“Ah? But, having asked you my questions, I believe I can simplify the process.” Kawashima leafed through the book, turning over pages until his hand stopped and flattened the book open. “Please look at this picture. Does it seem familiar to you?”

 

Zoro reluctantly turned his gaze onto the coloured illustration… And found himself looking at a cone shell covered with intricate patterns: golden triangles interlaced with curling brown and white lines, as if the shell had been decorated by a fine artist. He blinked at the picture. “Uh… That’s it.”

Kawashima smiled again. “Indeed. I was fairly confident, from your description of your symptoms: but it’s as well that you have confirmed it, from recognising its picture.” He slid the book towards himself and tapped the page with one finger. “The dream cone, or so-called by fishermen. It is not a common species: very collectible, although of course one should not handle it without taking due precautions.”

“No kidding.” Zoro frowned at the picture.

“Like many of its fellow cone shells, it is extremely venomous. _Extremely_. I am surprised that having been stung, you did not succumb straight away.” Kawashima regarded him assessingly over his spectacles. “You must have a strong constitution.” Zoro shrugged. “You were fortunate that your shipmates knew to treat the sting with hot water: that will certainly have dealt with the venom still remaining in the immediate area of the sting. But a quantity of the venom would already have passed into your system by then, spreading throughout your body. Hence your suffering ill effects such as the nausea and headache.”

Zoro nodded. “Okay. But by the next day I felt better.”

Kawashima shook his head. “The venom of the dream cone has persistent effects. It passes into the nervous system and into the brain, interfering with neural activity. It begins to disrupt and degrade the normal sleep patterns; sufferers eventually start to experience an inability to sleep for more than a couple of hours. The sleep that they do have is typically of a deep dreamstate type. As their fatigue caused by sleep deprivation increases, hallucinations during the waking state also increase. Hence the shell’s common name of dream cone: fishermen and sailors have long known of its effects.”

“So this – dream cone, whatever – it’s something you’ve come across before?” Zoro hadn’t followed the whole explanation, finding the doctor’s polysyllabic delivery somewhat challenging in his current state; but he had got the gist. “So you know what to do to treat it?”

Kawashima folded his hands together. “The usual treatment for a cone shell sting of any sort is to administer an anti-venom, without delay. For the dream cone, also.”

“Okay.” Zoro nodded. “Then let’s do that.”

“It is not so simple.” Kawashima looked concerned. “At this point… I would like to invite your doctor friend Mr Chopper back in here with us. I would value his opinion.”

 

 

 

 

“Oi.” Zoro’s voice made Sanji and Chopper look round from where they were standing viewing the doctor’s garden. Zoro gestured with his thumb at the house. “Kawashima wants you to come back in, Chopper. He wants to talk doctor stuff with you.”

Chopper hurried into the house, followed by Sanji. Zoro looked at him. “He didn’t say you were needed, cook.”

“I’ve had all the fresh air I need right now.” Sanji had no intention of being excluded from whatever discussion was going to occur. There was a less-than-sunny aspect to Zoro’s expression that suggested things might not be going in a straightforward manner. “Has Kawashima got an idea of how to tackle this?”

Zoro shrugged, leading the way back inside. “Seems like it. But you know what doctors are like, always making everything sound more complicated than it needs to be.”

 

 

 

When they came back into the room where Kawashima sat at the table, he and Chopper were conferring closely. They both looked up when Zoro and Sanji came in: Sanji noted that Chopper was looking concerned.

Zoro pulled out a chair and sat down. “So. This anti-venom you talked about. Let’s try it.”

“Anti-venom?” Sanji looked at the grey-haired doctor. “What is it?”

“All cone shell stings, like the stings of many other venomous animals, may be treated with anti-venom. Broadly speaking, such anti-venoms work in two ways: they halt the progression of venom into the body, and can limit its ill effects. In some cases, they may also treat damage that has already been caused.” Kawashima gestured towards Zoro. “Your friend has been stung by the dream cone: the difficulty in sleeping, the dreams, the hallucinations – these are all effects of the dream cone venom. So the logical step would normally be to treat this with the correct anti-venom.”

“Great.” Sanji nodded towards Zoro. “Then for once, I agree with what he said. Dose him up.”

“Sanji – it’s not as easy as that.” Chopper’s expression was apprehensive. “Dr Kawashima has been explaining to me… Because it has been six weeks since Zoro was stung by the dream cone, the venom has worked its way deep into his system. Normally, an anti-venom would have to be given as soon as possible for it to work… Certainly not weeks afterwards.”

 

There was a long silence. At last Zoro said, “Makes no difference. Give it to me anyway.”

“The delay in treatment affects the dosage.” Kawashima looked soberly at the swordsman. “Normally, for every twenty-four hours after the time of the sting, the anti-venom would be doubled in strength. But for six weeks…” He shook his head. “The potency would be impossible. It would certainly prove fatal.”

Sanji frowned. “Wait a minute. What are you saying? This is a medicine, isn’t it? Why the hell is it so dangerous?”

“To make an anti-venom, one first collects the actual _venom_ of the cone shell in question. It is then treated and combined with herbs to change its effects, before administering: the body is then stimulated to produce antibodies which prevent and reverse damage caused by the sting. But the side effects of the anti-venom are similar to those of the original sting. That is why it’s impossible to increase the potency beyond a certain point.”

“I can handle it.” Zoro had a no-nonsense look on his face. “So let’s stop discussing it, and get on with it.”

“Young man,” responded Kawashima, regarding him gravely, “you may well have a strong constitution. But I have never successfully treated anyone after such a lapse of time. And to give you a strong enough dose to reverse the extent of the damage – as I said before, it would almost certainly be fatal.”

Zoro shrugged. “I’ll take that risk.”

 

Sanji looked sharply at him. Chopper let out a sound of protest. “Zoro, you aren’t listening to what Dr Kawashima is telling you! This is too dangerous. We have to find another solution.”

“Fine. What do you suggest?” Zoro regarded him challengingly. Chopper opened his mouth; went red; clenched his jaw. Zoro gave a grim smile. “Yeah. Right.” He looked at Kawashima. “I’m ready to do this whenever you are.”

Kawashima nodded slowly. “You understand that if we are to proceed, it is against my advice?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t blame you if I wake up dead.” Zoro grinned at him. “How do we do this?”

“I will need to prepare the anti-venom.” Kawashima looked towards the door that led to his garden. “Fortunately, I have a living specimen of the dream cone in my collection.” He gave a forlorn smile. “I find it… advisable to keep as many of the cone shells to hand as possible, for such eventualities.”

“May I help you to prepare it?” asked Chopper, still looking deeply upset. “I’d like to do everything I can to assist.”

Kawashima bowed towards him. “I would be most grateful for your assistance.” He turned to Zoro. “However: even with your friend’s help, it will take several hours to prepare the anti-venom. I suggest you return here tomorrow at midday. Then, if you are still determined to pursue this course of treatment, we shall proceed.”

“Okay.” Zoro stood up. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” He gave a nod towards Kawashima, before heading towards the door.

 

 

 

 

Sanji caught up with the swordsman a few yards down the street. “Oi, slow down, marimo. What’s the rush?”

“No rush.” Zoro kept walking at a swift pace.

“Then why the sudden exit? You didn’t even say thanks to Kawashima.”

“I’ll thank him after he’s cured me.”

Sanji studied the swordsman. “Right.” He noted the determined set to Zoro’s jaw. “Seems like you’ve made up your mind to do this.”

“Why wouldn’t I do it?” Zoro shot him a look.

Sanji took out a cigarette and lit it, then gave a shrug. “Just wondering if you might want to take a bit longer to… think about what’s involved.”

Zoro gave a dismissive shake of his head. “If this anti-venom is what can cure me, I don’t need to think about it.”

“You _were_ listening back there when Kawashima and Chopper were talking to you?” Sanji clenched his teeth around his cigarette. “You know: to the whole, ‘This could kill you’ thing?”

Zoro snorted. “That’s just doctor talk. They always try to make things sound worse than they really are.”

Sanji regarded him. “Well, it’s clear that some of the brain damage is serious. Let’s hope it’s not irreversible.”

“Fuck you!” Zoro shot him a glare.

“I’m serious.” Sanji stopped suddenly in the street, taking him by the arm and looking at him. “Have you really thought about this? About the risk you could be taking?”

“Compared with what? Getting steadily crazier, until there’s nothing of me left?” Zoro pulled his arm free. “I’d rather die.”

 

Sanji gazed at him. “You asshole.” A sick feeling sat in his stomach.

Zoro returned his gaze, levelly. “That doesn’t mean I _intend_ dying, moron. Like I said: Kawashima was just doing what doctors always do, making it sound worse than it is. He’s just trying to cover his own ass. I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.” A familiar assured grin spread over Zoro’s face. Sanji fought the urge to wipe it away with kick to the side of the swordsman’s head.

“Fine.” Sanji started walking again, throwing out angry puffs of cigarette smoke as he went. “We all know you’re indestructible. I don’t know why the hell I bothered saying anything.”

 

 

 

 

Zoro related the outcome of his consultation with Dr Kawashima to his other nakama over the supper table. They received it with cautious optimism, perhaps helped by the fact that Zoro’s account omitted to mention Kawashima’s misgivings about the possible side effects of the anti-venom. Sanji kept close-lipped for as long as he could manage, listening to the others making relieved comments… Before deciding abruptly that he and Chopper shouldn’t be the only ones to be worrying about the risks involved. “Were you going to mention what Kawashima said about the downside?”

Zoro gave him a dirty look. “Mind your own business, shitty cook.”

“It’s all of our business, crap swordsman. Don’t keep people in the dark about what’s involved: that’s not honest.” Sanji held his gaze, unimpressed. “And you should know by now, keeping secrets doesn’t help matters.”

“Secrets?” Nami frowned at them both. “What secrets?”

“Nothing.” Zoro was scowling at Sanji now. “The idiot cook is talking out of turn.”

“I’ll talk whenever I want to, about whatever I want to.” Sanji leaned forward, folding his arms on the table. “And if you’re not going to tell them about what Kawashima said, I will.”

 

There was a pause, while the Mugiwara looked at Zoro expectantly. At last, turning his angry gaze away from Sanji and onto his other nakama, the swordsman capitulated. “This anti-venom, that Kawashima’s going to give me. It could have… side effects.”

“Like what?” asked Usopp curiously.

“Wow, will it give you special powers?” demanded Luffy. “Like a devil fruit?”

Zoro’s gaze switched back to Sanji briefly, before returning to Luffy and the others. “No. But it could be dangerous. According to Kawashima, anyway.”

“What this idiot’s carefully avoiding telling you, is that Kawashima said the dose Zoro will have to take could be fatal.” Sanji had had enough of the swordman’s evasiveness.

“Fatal?” queried Robin, her brow furrowing; around the table, the other Mugiwara were similarly perturbed.

 

The look Zoro now gave Sanji scorched the air between them. “Why don’t you keep your big mouth shut, shitty cook?”

“Because we could all die of old age before you got round to spitting it out.” Unconcernedly Sanji got up and carried some of the supper dishes to the sink.

“Wait a minute… Is what Sanji’s saying right? If you take this medicine, it could kill you?” Usopp looked alarmed.

Zoro shook his head. “Of course it won’t.”

 

 _Denial springs eternal._ Returning with a bowl of fruit which he set in the centre of the table, Sanji sat down again.

“That sounds like too a big risk,” commented Nami, selecting an apple from the bowl. “Surely there must be other options?”

“Not according to Kawashima.” Zoro looked around the table at his nakama. “And I’m going to do it.”

Luffy regarded the swordsman thoughtfully, peeling a banana; then inserted the whole fruit into his mouth, swallowing it after the barest minimum of chewing. He gave a nod. “Sure. You’ll be okay.”

For once Sanji found Luffy’s boundless confidence in his nakama’s abilities less than reassuring. But seeing the smile Zoro got on his face after receiving this affirmation from their captain, Sanji bit back the retort that was building on his tongue. After a moment, he reached to the bowl of fruit himself; selected an apple and began to quarter it.

 

 

 

 

 

Night fell over Muna: the dockside bustle quieted down, apart from the occasional sounds of laughter or singing drifting over from bars scattered up the streets and alleys close to the sea. Sanji sat for a while smoking on the steps leading down from Nami’s mikan grove, gazing at the lights of the town spreading away into the growing darkness. The smells of land drifted towards him: cooking food and woodsmoke, refuse heaps and flowers; the sweet and the harsh intermingled.

A footstep made him look around. Zoro came to stand next to him, leaning one shoulder against the cabin wall, turning his own gaze out over the town. Sanji said nothing for a while, letting the silence stretch between them. At last he tapped ash off his cigarette, watching it float down onto the deck before speaking. “I didn’t think you’d come looking for me. I assumed I was in your bad books.”

“You assumed right.” Zoro’s response was in level tones.

Sanji smiled wryly. “Like I could give a fuck.”

“It wasn’t your place to tell them.”

“Someone had to. And it seemed like you weren’t going to.”

“They didn’t need to know.”

“That what you’re going to do might kill you? I disagree.” Sanji shook his head. “You don’t keep stuff like that from people. From _nakama_.”

 

There was a pause then: long enough that Sanji regarded the swordsman steadily. Zoro was frowning slightly, still looking out into the darkness. After a minute, he spoke again. “This just concerns me. No-one else is making this decision. I’ll handle it. And I’ll handle the consequences.”

Sanji felt a heaviness about his heart then. “Yeah, it’s all about you.” He sighed. “Stupid me, for thinking any different.”

Zoro looked at him then. “What are you pissed off about?”

“Nothing you’d understand; seems like.” Sanji shook his head.

“Try me.”

 

Sanji blew out a mouthful of smoke. “It’s like you don’t even see the concern other people have for you. Like it’s… of no account. Of no value. That’s what pisses me off.”

“I never said I don’t value it,” Zoro answered quietly.

“Well, you’ve got a fucking weird way of showing it.” Sanji’s mouth tightened.

“Not everyone goes over the top with the hearts and flowers like you do, ero-cook. Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate my nakama.”

“Then let us the fuck in.” Sanji held his gaze. “I know it’s out of your comfort zone, but this might be a good time to try something different.”

Zoro looked silently at him for a few seconds… Before turning his gaze back out over the town. “I’m used to taking care of myself.”

“I noticed.” Sanji felt frustration rise through the heaviness in his chest. “And you know what? Sooner or later, that starts sounding like a lame excuse for avoiding facing something you’re scared of.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Zoro turned an angry gaze on him.

“When it comes to fighting, you’re the first one in there. But when it comes to responding to people without a sword, as human beings, you seem totally clueless half the time. And when someone reaches out to you, tries to connect, you treat them worse than an enemy. The only reason I can see you’d do that is because the thought of actually connecting, actually _giving a fuck,_ scares the shit out of you.” Sanji spread one hand in an eloquent gesture. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”

 

Zoro looked at him for a long moment. “I’m not scared… And I give a fuck about people.”

“Yeah? Good. Because in case you haven’t noticed, the people on this boat give a fuck about you. Which is why telling them about big stuff like this matters. It shows you trust them. It invites them in. Which is how human beings behave, in a civilised society.”

A corner of Zoro’s mouth twitched. “We’re pirates.”

“Minor detail. Even pirates have to maintain some standards.” Sanji wasn’t going to be deflected from making his point. “I know you get this, moron. Stop acting like you don’t.”

Zoro smiled at him, properly this time. “Yeah, I get it. It’s just fun watching you self-combust.”

 

Sanji stared at him, forgetting to inhale on his cigarette. “The hell… You fucking wind-up artist.”

Zoro let out a low snort of laughter. “Take it easy, cook. You get any redder, you’ll burst a blood vessel.”

“Fucking shitty thick-headed asshole marimo…” Sanji clenched his jaw. “I don’t know why I even bother talking to you.”

“Because you love the sound of your own voice?” As Sanji rose abruptly from the steps, his stance suggesting he was about to introduce a kick into the conversation, Zoro quickly held up a placatory hand. “Oi, relax, cook. Don’t start a fight; I’m unarmed, remember?”

“In a minute you’re going to be unconscious,” ground out Sanji from between still-clenched teeth.

 

Zoro lowered his hand: then abruptly reached out with it and took hold of one of the cook’s. Sanji froze, poised between lashing out and wondering what was coming next. He felt Zoro’s fingers curl around his own. There was a long pause.

At last Zoro broke the silence. “There room on those steps for me to sit down?”

Sanji looked at him. “That depends if you’re through being a pain in the ass.”

Zoro shrugged, letting go of his hand. “You ought to make some allowances. Seeing as how I’m going to face a near-death experience tomorrow.”

“I would, if I didn’t know you better.” Sanji sat back down, leaving room on the step below for Zoro to join him. “But I figure that you’re just seeing it as some big challenge. You’re probably getting off on the thought of it.” He shifted his legs, as Zoro settled down comfortably between them. “Perverted swordsman.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, shit-cook.” Zoro rested his arms across his knees. “And you’re right about one thing. I’m glad I can do this. Because the sooner I can get my head right and get back to normal, the better.”

“Getting your head _right_ might be a little optimistic.” Sanji smirked, stretching out a hand and tangling his fingers into the short green hair just in front of him, giving it a tug. “Kawashima’s just a doctor, not a magician.”

Zoro grunted. “Fuck you.”

“Seriously though… This isn’t going to be a stroll, even for you. Don’t underestimate what you’re going to do.”

“I’m not.” Zoro sounded serious enough now. “It’s just… It’s what I have to do, ne? So I want to get it done.” He let out a sudden long sigh. “Fuck… It’s been nine days since I trained with my katana.”

 

Sanji wasn’t surprised that the swordsman knew exactly how much time had elapsed. “Don’t sweat it. You’ll soon get back into it, when you’re well again.”

“That’s not it. It’s just… weird. Not having them.” Zoro shook his head. “I don’t feel… right, without my swords.”

Sanji heard in the tone of Zoro’s voice, what he wasn’t fully putting into words. “You’ll get them back. Soon.”

“Yeah.” Zoro bowed his head.

 

Sanji stubbed out his cigarette: leaned forward and slid his arms around the other man’s shoulders, resting himself against the solid warmth of his back. He felt Zoro take in and release a long breath. Resting his head against his lover’s, Sanji said quietly, “We ought to try and get some sleep soon. Big day tomorrow, and all that.”

A hand came up to where his own were folded against Zoro’s chest: strong fingers curled around his. “Cook?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Giving a fuck.”

Sanji smiled.


	14. Ready To Face The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to get cured... Zoro hopes.

_I had too much to dream last night_  
 _Too much to dream  
_ _I’m not ready to face the light_

_\- Electric Prunes_

 

\-----

 

Zoro lay awake far into the night. Felt the cook go under before him: listened to the soft rhythms of his breathing, in and out, like waves stroking a shore. Sanji had drawn close up against his back, one arm curled round his body, the cook’s hand laid against Zoro’s stomach. It was a position that had become habit, over the nights they’d spent together in there. Close enough for comfort, of a sort. Not that Zoro wanted comfort. What he wanted was to be free of the creeping darkness that had invaded his dreams, his waking hours, his life.

_  
\- Have you really thought about this? About the risk you could be taking?_

   
He lay still, gazing into the near-darkness of the galley. Feeling Sanji’s breaths ghosting on the back of his neck.

   
 _\- I’ll be fine._

_\- You don’t know that._

His eyes ached. He needed to sleep. Would fall into sleep, soon. Or what passed for sleep for himself, now. He knew when he finally let go, followed the cook into unconsciousness, he would dream. Which was why he was fighting it. It was almost the only fight he had left in him now. Which was why he wasn’t yielding. He wondered if he could make it, this time, until morning, without closing his eyes.

 

 

 

 

_He was walking on the deck of the Going Merry, stepping quietly in the moonlight. His nakama were all sleeping: only he was awake. Around the ship, the night was peaceful, Muna sleeping too beneath the moon. He could hear the sea rippling gently against the quayside; a dog bark three times, somewhere up in the alleys of the town._

_He stopped on the deck, shut his eyes. Listened. Let his senses reach out, his instincts guide him. And then he felt them. Whispering in the dark. Calling to him._

 

_He walked to the storeroom door, opened it softly, making sure that the hinges didn’t creak. Moved into the darkness, following the whispering. Following the hum in the air, that made the hairs on his arms lift, his skin tingle._

_His nakama had hidden them well. But he knew he could find them, once he let himself listen to their call. He shifted the heavy water barrel, that must have taken three of them to move: pulled out the locked wooden chest that stood behind and broke it open with the crowbar he found leaning against the wall. At once the whispering became a chorus, a singing as he lifted the splintered wooden lid._

_His hands closed around the long wrapped cloth bundle that lay inside the chest. Slowly he lifted it out, unwrapping the cloth that had been carefully folded around by his nakama. They had taken care with them, he was pleased by that. Of course, they’d taken them from him, too._

_The cloth fell to the floor. He held his katana again, and felt their weight, their strength. Closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a breath._

_“Zoro?” A familiar voice behind him, questioning. “What are you doing?”_

_For an answer he turned around, sliding his katana onto his waist. Sanji was standing there in the storeroom doorway, his silhouette immediately recognisable in the moonlight. He heard the cook let out a breath. Then say, in a low voice, “You shouldn’t be touching those.”_

_Zoro smiled, in the darkness. “Yeah. I should.”_

_Sanji took half a step towards him. “Put them back.”_

_“I need them.” Zoro closed his hand around Wado Ichmonji’s hilt and it was like a welcome, an embrace; the rightness of it so powerful it made him catch a breath._

_“No.” Sanji stepped in closer still. “You don’t need them. Put them down.”_

_Zoro drew Wado Ichimonji and the steel slid free from the saya with a clean sound. “This is what I want.”_

_“You can’t have them. Not now. You have to put them down.”_

_Sanji was still coming forwards and Zoro extended Wado Ichimonji towards him, giving a half shake of his head. “Don’t come any closer, cook.”_

_“Listen to me. You’re dreaming.” Sanji shook his head too. “Whatever you’re seeing, isn’t real. You need to put down your swords.” He took one more step forwards._

 

_Zoro could smell him: the unique smell of the cook, cigarettes and spices and the warm living smell of the man he held and fought with and tasted and loved. “I said, don’t come any closer.”_

_Sanji took another step, reaching out quickly; and Zoro’s arm moved swifter still, bringing Wado Ichimonji across in a slashing sweep that met Sanji’s chest. He felt the blow go home; and a fraction of a second after, heard the cook’s breath leave him with a startled, painful sound. Then Zoro was stepping back, as Sanji fell onto his knees on the floor._

_Zoro’s hand was clenched tight around the hilt of his katana. He stared down at where the cook knelt, one arm across his body. Sanji lifted his head, trembling, and even in the moonlight a great dark stain was visible, spreading across his shirt. “Zoro… ”_

_The hilt of Wado Ichimonji was solid and heavy in his hand, sweat slick in his palm. He could smell Sanji’s blood; hear the bubble in the cook’s voice as he tried to speak. His katana were still whispering, chuckling to him now, buzzing in his ears. The moonlight made everything white and black, even the blood spreading where Sanji knelt on the deck. There was nothing to do now except finish it, so he lifted his sword arm again and brought his blade swiftly down towards where the pale hair fell away from the cook’s neck_

A hand clasped on his arm, as if trying to hold him back. He could feel the fingers pressing into his skin; could see nothing, in the darkness. Blindly he tried to wrench himself free, letting out a wordless noise, his mind filled with blood and the sound of his katana meeting flesh.

“Zoro - wake up, damn it!”

It was Sanji’s voice. Zoro felt the hand on his arm give him a sharp shake: he swayed in its grip, his own hand going down to close over the fingers. Felt blankets around his legs, falling away from his waist where he was sitting up. The cool of the early morning air striking against the sweat on his skin.

“Oi - talk to me, marimo.” Sanji’s grip was still tight on his arm. “Are you awake yet?”

Zoro caught a single breath in – then let out it out in a long shiver. “Nnhh…” He clenched his teeth to cut the sound off.

The hand on his arm loosened slightly, but stayed where it was. “Ehi… Bad one, huh?”

Zoro breathed in again; managed to let it out more steadily this time. “…Yeah.”

Sanji let out a breath too, in a quiet sigh. Then his hand gave Zoro’s arm a gentle tug. “Lie back down.”

“I don’t want any more sleep - ”

“Then just lie down and relax. It’s way too early to start breakfast; and I don’t feel like watching the dawn rise, romantic notion though that might seem.”

Zoro yielded to the pull on his arm, lying heavily down on his back to stare up at the galley ceiling in the faint grey light. Sanji was right: it had to be a while yet until sunrise. He felt the cook stir beside him, pressing closer: automatically Zoro lifted one arm and brought it under the other man’s shoulders, and felt Sanji’s head rest back against it.

 

“Wuhhh…” Sanji yawned. “Why is it, when you wake at this hour of the morning, your brain starts up with all manner of useless crap?”

Zoro grunted. “Isn’t that your brain’s natural state?”

A sharp elbow found his ribs. “Watch it, shitty marimo. I’m not at my best when I get woken up before the sun’s made an appearance.”

“Try a few weeks of it.”

“No thanks. Strange as it might seem, you’re not the best advert for sleep deprivation as a mood enhancer.” Sanji yawned again. “Not that you’re likely to win any prizes for charm even at the best of times.”

“Thanks.”

“Lucky for you, I’m such a tolerant and accommodating soul.”

“Who’s hallucinating now?”

“Up you, mosshead.”

“If you want. I guess it must be your turn.”

 

Sanji rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow: a smile crept over his face. “O, is that right? And you’re in the mood for love, all of a sudden?”

Zoro turned his head to meet his gaze. “Why not? I’m awake. You’re awake.”

“Be still, my beating heart.” Sanji raised one eyebrow. “What brought this on?”

“You don’t want to?”

“I didn’t say that.” Sanji regarded the swordsman for a long moment. Then reached out across his chest, taking hold of Zoro’s hand and curling his fingers around it. Moving with the same deliberate preciseness, he brought the swordsman’s hand to his lips: pressed a single slow kiss against the fingers.

 

Zoro took a breath in. “What… are you doing?”

Sanji kept the swordsman’s hand in his own. “Someone’s got to bring a little romance to the moment.”

“Idiot…” Zoro’s voice was almost a growl, but not quite.

Sanji kissed the fingers in his again: then turned the swordsman’s hand over, pressed another kiss into the palm. “If it’s my turn, then I get to choose how we do this.” He touched his lips to the palm again; then after a moment, parted them and let his tongue trace a warm wet circle against the skin. Zoro shivered and Sanji smiled: gave his tongue another circle, before lifting his head up and leaning in towards the swordsman, bringing his face up to his. “But feel free to tell me what you want.”

 

Zoro met the cook’s gaze: felt it seeing further into him than he wanted it to. Hoped that what he was feeling, what he was thinking, didn’t show in his eyes.

_I want this not to be the last time._

 

He saw Sanji’s brow draw down and knew that his hope had been in vain. To try to divert attention, he lifted one finger and lightly traced the dark spiral. “Whatever I want?”

“Within reason.” Sanji held him with his gaze. “It’s a godforsaken early hour of the morning, so don’t expect acrobatics.”

“Lightweight.”

“Oh, you are _so_ gonna regret saying that.” Sanji let one corner of his mouth curl up in a wicked grin, before leaning in with a kiss that Zoro felt in every inch of his body.

 

 

Sanji wasn’t stupid. He’d seen what was in Zoro’s mind. And for all his careful avoidance of saying it aloud, for all his joking banter last night, it filled his own thoughts too.

_\- You ought to make some allowances. Seeing as how I’m going to face a near-death experience tomorrow._

No longer tomorrow. Today.

 

When Zoro had looked at him, it was all Sanji could do not to name what they were both holding within. Instead he put everything he was feeling into the kiss he bent on the swordsman’s mouth: and then afterwards, roaming with lips and tongue and teeth down Zoro’s neck, his shoulders, his chest. Tasting the salt warmth of his skin. Feeling him shiver beneath every touch.

 _This is real._ Every kiss, every stroke of his tongue, every press of his teeth against Zoro’s skin said it. _This is real, and this is what you’re coming back to. Don’t you even think about doing the other thing._

 

He was between Zoro’s legs, running his tongue in a slow trail along his inner thigh, one hand curling around his hip. Then he shifted, his mouth finding Zoro’s hardness and taking it in, hearing the swordsman catch his breath.

_If you have to feel those dreams, those nightmares, then feel this._

 

He used his mouth, his tongue, his fingers to bring his lover higher, closer to the edge. After a little while he lifted his head, looking upwards: Zoro lay breathing hard, one hand flung up across his forehead; the other stretched away, clenched into a fist. Sanji let out a long breath himself, before smoothly sliding upwards. He found Zoro’s mouth with his own: curled his tongue around his lover’s, before pulling back enough to say between kisses, “You okay?”

“Mhh…” Zoro gave him a look from half-open eyes, his breath coming in uneven gasps. “Yeah… I’m good.”

Sanji gave him another combative kiss for good measure, before getting what he needed. One of the advantages of sleeping in the galley was that oil was always close to hand; and they were both more than ready. Yet once he was there, sliding into the tight heat of his lover’s body; hand wrapped around Zoro’s length, the two of them both letting out sounds they had no control over… any urgency slid away. Sanji felt the world narrow down, closing in to the here and now. To every sensation where their bodies met, where skin slid against skin. To the slowed, unsteady rhythm of each breath.

 

Zoro’s eyes met his, shadowed in the pre-dawn light. The swordsman lifted one hand, finding the side of Sanji’s face: curled his fingers round, twining them into his lover’s hair. His breaths shivered through partly-open lips. Sanji arched his back, going deep: felt Zoro jolt underneath him as he moved, head tilting back to reveal the strong curve of the swordsman’s throat. He felt warmth flushing under his skin, building as he moved in that tight heat; as they both got closer to the edge.

Then Zoro’s fingers clenched in his hair; it almost hurt but he lost that pain as he felt Zoro shudder and saw his eyes close, felt him reach his peak and ride it, crying out. And that was enough to take him over too, thrusting and echoing Zoro’s cry as he came, feeling the swordsman’s fingers still tangled in his hair.

 

 

 

The light slowly grew, strengthening through the galley porthole. They lay together side by side under the blanket, breathing down, sweat drying cool on any skin exposed to the air. Sanji let out a long, easy sigh. Turning his head slightly he opened his eyes, looking at the face beside his. “Hhmm…”

Zoro’s eyes opened: mirroring Sanji’s movement, he too turned his head, returning the cook’s gaze. Sanji let one corner of his mouth lift in a smile. “Well, waking up early isn’t _all_ bad.”

Zoro made a low sound of assent, his own mouth softening, just for a moment, into a smile too. Sanji lifted one hand and placed it on the swordsman’s arm, stroking slowly upwards towards his shoulder. “I’d say, let’s go back to sleep… But chances are it won’t be too long before someone gets up and comes looking for breakfast.”

“That’s okay. There’s no way I’d get back to sleep right now, anyway.” Zoro slid his own hand across, resting the palm flat on the cook’s stomach.

 

Sanji studied his face. In the growing light, the weary shadows under the swordsman’s eyes looked darker than ever. “Well, that’s something to look forward to, once you’re better. Catching up on your sleep.” He let out a short chuckle. “Hell, you probably won’t surface for a fortnight. We’ll have to feed you your meals while you’re snoring.”

“As long as I’m not dreaming I don’t care what else happens.” Zoro drew lazy circles against the cook’s muscles with one finger, until Sanji twitched.

“Nnghh… Quit it.” Sanji felt his stomach tensing against the brushing on his skin.

“Ha… You’re feeling ticklish?” Zoro grinned. “That’s really cute, cook.”

“Fuck off.” Sanji resisted the urge to knock Zoro’s lightly circling fingers away, gritting his teeth against the increasing sensation. “I’m not ticklish. That’s just not – comfortable.”

“How about here, then?” Zoro’s hand drifted along Sanji’s side, finding the skin just below his ribs: redoubled its efforts.

“Rrrhh - ” Sanji moved swiftly, shoving the hand away and flipping himself up onto his side, propped on one elbow. “I said, quit it.”

 

Zoro was still smiling. “Can’t take it?”

“Bastard.” Sanji said this without any real animosity in his tone, although he kept a watchful eye on where Zoro’s hand lay between them. “You’re nothing but a troublemaker.”

“You seem to like it,” Zoro responded.

“How long have you had this ego inflation problem?” Sanji narrowed his eyes. “Even making allowances for the fact that I know you’re pretty delusional right now…”

“My ego is just fine, shitty cook.”

“See: denial. Classic sign of a delusional mind.” Sanji smirked. “Just as well you’re going to get that mossy brain of yours fixed today.”

“Maybe Kawashima does discounts on two-for-one. We could get him to take a look at your head as well… Though it’s likely that your problems are beyond fixing.”

 

Sanji bared his teeth. “Hey, you know what just occurred to me? Once Kawashima’s given you that antidote, you’re probably going to be feeling like hell. And, y’know: maybe weak and _vulnerable_. So if you want me to play nice and soothe your fevered brow, you ought to be kissing my ass right now.”

“And have you playing nurse? Fuck, you should have told me before that was one of your fantasies. Have you got an outfit for it?”

“Oh, that’s gonna cost you.” Sanji shook his head. He regarded the swordsman’s broad grin and let out a sigh. “And by the way: _nurse’s outfit?_  Exactly how much thought have you given to this?” He paused, then continued, “On second thought, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

Zoro let out a low chuckle. Sanji looked at him a moment longer… Before lifting his hand and reaching out, letting his fingertip graze the swordsman’s left ear, stirring the three slender gold earrings there. Zoro’s face stilled: his eyes met the cook’s.

“Joking aside…” Sanji traced his finger against the slivers of gold, letting them lift and fall. “I plan to help you do this. However that works. Whatever, you know… needs doing.”

Zoro’s eyes rested on him. “Kawashima and Chopper can handle it.”

“They’re the doctors, sure. But I’ll stick around, anyway.” Sanji held his gaze.

 

Zoro said nothing. But after a long moment of silence, he gave a single nod of assent.

Sanji let his hand slide back, fingers cradling the swordsman’s neck, thumb brushing against his cheek. Slowly and deliberately he leaned in: their mouths met, holding in a kiss. When they broke it was to rest their foreheads one against the other, eyes closed.

 

There was a muffled pounding on the galley door. Followed swiftly by the familiar voice of their captain penetrating the woodwork. “Hey, Sanji! Is breakfast ready?”

Sanji exhaled, forehead still resting against Zoro’s. “Fuck... Duty calls.”

Zoro smiled. “Better get up before he walks in on us.”

Sanji bent his head down, giving him one last forceful kiss… Before pushing himself upright and reaching for his shirt.

 

“Sanji? It’s morning, and I’m hungry!” Luffy’s voice was louder.

“All right, craphead!” roared Sanji, in the frightening tones developed over years working in the high-volume and high-stress atmosphere of a restaurant kitchen. “Quit yelling and have a little patience, if you want feeding!”

There was a short silence with a distinctly thoughtful quality to it. Then, in a carefully modulated almost-shout: “Okay!”

Sanji hauled on his trousers, jerking up the zipper. “Give me fucking strength…” He glanced down at where Zoro still lay propped on one elbow amongst the blankets, and nodded at him. “Oi, you. Get up. I’m not tripping over you while I’m cooking breakfast.”

“Just enjoying the view.” Zoro gave a wide smile.

Sanji reached down and picked up the swordsman’s shirt, before tossing it onto the other man’s head. “Just get dressed, idiot. I doubt that seeing you wearing nothing but a blanket will help anyone’s appetite for breakfast.”

 

 

 

 

Once the shared morning meal with his nakama was over, Zoro headed out onto the aft deck to run through his weights routine. He found Luffy already out there, sitting cross-legged against the cabin, hands behind his head. As Zoro picked up his weights, Luffy gave him a grin. “Eh, Zoro! My turn to keep an eye on you.”

Zoro grunted, swinging a weight up one-handed to chest height. “Fine. But once I’m done with training, I’m out of here. Kawashima said to be back at his place by midday.”

Luffy regarded him thoughtfully. “And then he’s going to cure you.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Good.” Luffy gave an approving nod. “Then you’ll be able to have your swords back.”

“Right.” Zoro smiled.

“That’ll be good. You’re not a whole lot of use without them.” Luffy grinned wickedly. “Mutoryu style… Not that impressive.”

 

Zoro’s brows drew down, his smile disappearing. “Oi… Shut the fuck up, idiot.”

Luffy chuckled. “Or you’ll do what?”

Zoro paused, fists clenched round his weights. “How’d you like to catch one of these with your teeth?”

“Ha! I’ll bounce it back so hard, you’ll have to be standing on the shore to grab it. That’s if you can find your way onto the quayside without getting lost.”

 

 

 

 

Drying dishes inside the galley, Sanji listened with half an ear to the escalating insults coming in through the open porthole, a smile lifting one corner of his mouth. He crossed the room to slide the plate he was holding onto a stack on a shelf, passing Nami who was sitting at the table making notes in her logbook. The navigator paused in her work to glance up towards the porthole, before giving a shake of her head. “Sounds like Luffy’s being his usual diplomatic self.”

Sanji gave a half-shrug. “Diplomacy’s wasted on that crap swordsman, anyway.”

Nami rested her chin in her hand. “Well, at least Luffy’s taking his mind off… stuff.”

Sanji had a shrewd suspicion that this was precisely what Luffy’s plan had been. “Yeah. Which is a good thing.”

 

Nami’s gaze left the porthole and switched across to him. “You need distracting too… Eh, Sanji-kun?”

“Not really.” Sanji picked up another wet plate and began to wipe it. “It’s not like I have to do anything.”

“Mm-hmm.” Nami’s tone, coupled with her level stare, suggested she was not taken in by the cook’s matter-of-fact tone. “You’re going back up to Dr Kawashima’s with Zoro, aren’t you?”

“Someone needs to go with him.”

“And if he has to stay there for a few days … Which is pretty likely…” Nami still watched him. “You’re planning to stay too.”

“Yeah.” Sanji put down the dried plate; reached for another wet one from the draining rack. “Like I said: someone needs to.”

“Chopper’s there. And I’m sure he’ll be planning to stay there while Zoro’s being treated.”

“I know.” Sanji gave her a look from under a lowered brow. “And I plan to be there too. Don’t worry, I’ve made sure that I’ve left plenty of food for the next couple of days’ meals. You guys will just have to fend for yourself, or there are plenty of decent eateries in Muna - ”

“We’ll manage just fine, Sanji.” Nami’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. “Stop fussing about feeding us, it’s not your priority right now.”

“It’s always my priority. I’m the cook on this ship.” Sanji turned away, tossing his dishtowel on the back of a chair. “Making sure everyone gets fed is my responsibility.”

“I think we can handle making sandwiches and soup for a couple of days.” Nami spoke confidently. “And I’ll keep Luffy out of your store cupboards, don’t worry.”

“You better.”

 

There was a brief pause; Sanji shoved his hand into his pocket and brought his cigarettes, jabbing one into his mouth and lighting up. He heard Nami’s chair scrape back, her footsteps crossing the floor: then she came into view beside him, leaning on the kitchen counter with one elbow. “What time are you guys leaving?”

“Kawashima said to be there by noon. So we should leave here late morning. Whenever that musclebound moron has done swinging his weights around, I guess.”

Nami nodded. “Okay. Then a couple of us will walk up there to the doctor’s this evening, check on how things are going.”

“That’s not necessary. Chopper or I can send word if we need anything - ”

“It is necessary.” Nami folded her arms across her chest, fixing him with a look. “Don’t be difficult. You think you’re the only one who wants to help him?”

 

Sanji let out a long breath, curling with smoke. After a long pause, he said, “No.”

“So. We’ll come up to Dr Kawashima’s, and give you guys a rest when you need it. And you _will_ need it, because that swordsman is an even bigger pain in the ass to be around when he’s sick than he is the rest of the time.”

Sanji gave a grudging nod. “You got _that_ part right.”

Nami gave him a smile. “And don’t worry. If he can survive getting sliced up in sword fights as often as he does, he’ll come through this without any trouble.”

The cook had been telling himself the same thing, though not altogether successfully. “Sure.”

“Anyway,” Nami added, as an afterthought, “that idiot better get well, because he still owes me a new shirt.”

 

 

 

Zoro put his weights away before taking a shower, standing for some time under the spray of water and letting it sluice away his thoughts along with the sweat he’d worked up. He towelled himself dry and pulled on fresh clothes, before wandering through the storage room onto the main deck, still rubbing at his damp hair with the towel.

“Oi.” Zoro turned around at the sound of the cook’s voice: Sanji was sitting on the steps that led down from the cabin, the inevitable cigarette smoking between his fingers. “You ready to go?”

Zoro gestured at the damp towel and dirty clothes he was carrying. “Just gonna get rid of these. Then we can head off.”

Sanji nodded, taking a pull on his cigarette. Zoro turned away and headed down the hatch into the men’s sleeping quarters, tossing towel and clothes into a laundry basket before climbing back up on deck again. He was surprised to find his nakama standing by the ship’s rail, evidently waiting to see him and Sanji off.

 

“Was this your idea?” he growled at the cook, striding towards the edge of the ship.

Sanji raised his eyebrow. “Me? Perish the thought.”

Zoro glowered at him, before turning his scowl onto his four crewmates. “What are you all hanging about for?”

“Making sure you get your ass up to the doctor’s on time,” Nami answered succinctly, giving him a challenging grin. “Just as well the cook’s going with you, or you’d probably get lost within five minutes of setting foot on shore.”

“Good luck, Zoro.” Usopp leaned on the rail, giving the swordsman an encouraging smile.

“We’ll come up this evening and see how you’re getting on,” said Robin, also smiling.

Luffy stood with folded arms, regarding Zoro with his usual expression of cheerful optimism. “You have to get better quick. Nami said she’s gonna be the one doing the cooking while Sanji’s not here.”

“Namaiki!” Nami’s hand thwacked smartly round the back of their captain’s head. “And guess who’ll be getting the smallest portion, eh?”

 

Zoro let his gaze run over all of them briefly… Before shaking his head and turning away, one hand lifting in farewell as he left the ship. “See you guys in a day or two.”

Sanji gave them a shrug and a smile, hitching a bag onto his shoulder. “As ever, the master of social niceities.”

“Get a move on, shitty cook!”

Sanji gave his nakama a parting wave, before following in the swordsman’s wake.

 

 

He caught up with Zoro a few hundred yards down the quayside, striding determinedly ahead. “That was surly, even for you.”

“Idiots…” Zoro was still scowling. “It’s not even like I’ll be gone long.”

“Yeah, well…” Sanji settled easily into a matching stride beside him. “You still could’ve been a little more gracious.”

“I don’t like people making a fuss.” Zoro shook his head.

“Tough.” Sanji smiled around his cigarette. “If you haven’t worked out by now that those guys will do whatever they want to do, whether you like it or not…”

Zoro grunted, but said nothing more.


	15. Just A Little Pin Prick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoro’s made his decision, and there’s no going back.

_Okay_  
 _Just a little pin prick_  
 _There’ll be no more, Aaahhh  
_ _But you may feel a little sick_

_\- Pink Floyd_

 

\-----

 

 

Keeping a brisk pace, it took both men scarcely half an hour to find their way up through Muna’s winding backstreets, retracing the way to Dr Kawashima’s house. When they had swung the door knocker and were waiting on the doorstep for someone to respond, they turned back to face the street they had just walked along. In several of the neighbouring houses, figures stood in doorways or peered from windows, gazes fastened curiously on the two Mugiwara.

Zoro took in the scrutiny. “Get the feeling they’re not used to strangers round here?”

“Small town.” Sanji shrugged.

“Let’s hope they haven’t seen any of our reward posters.”

 

 

A scraping sound signalled the opening of the door behind them: both men turned around, to see Dr Kawashima standing there. He beckoned them in, nodding. “Ah, good, good. Please come inside.”

Zoro and Sanji followed the doctor into his house, Sanji shoving the stubborn door closed behind them. Kawashima led the way down the passage into the room they had seen before, gesturing at the chairs around the table: Chopper was already there, looking up as they came into the room. The little reindeer looked tired, but brightened on seeing them. “Zoro, Sanji!”

“Hey, Chopper.” Sanji slung his shoulder bag into a corner, before sitting down. Beside him Zoro pulled out a chair and sat too, looking from Chopper to Dr Kawashima. “So… Did you get this thing made?”

“The anti-venom? Yes; we did.” Kawashima also sat at the table, folding his hands together. “Your colleague and I were able to prepare it successfully. It took us rather a long time, but we finished a little over an hour ago.”

 

That explained the tired look of both doctors, thought Sanji: and there was also a stronger smell in the room, of pungent medicinal herbs. He looked at Zoro, who sat back, folding his arms across his chest. “Okay. Then let’s do this.”

Kawashima exchanged a look with Chopper, before saying quietly, “You still wish to go ahead? Despite the risks?”

Zoro made an impatient sound. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Kawashima nodded. He got to his feet, crossing to the desk at the side of the room; returned to the table and sat down, holding a small corked brown glass bottle and something wrapped in clean linen. He set both on the table; then carefully unfolded the linen, revealing an empty glass syringe.

 

Both the cook and swordsman gazed at the syringe. After a moment, Kawashima gently cleared his throat. “For the anti-venom to work, it must be administered in a similar fashion to the original toxin: injected into your bloodstream.”

“Right.” Zoro regarded the objects lying just in front of the doctor’s hands, a slight frown drawing his brows together.

“As I explained, to make the remedy your colleague Mr Chopper and I used venom taken from another dream cone shell, combining it with herbs and modifying it so as to render it less harmful.” Kawashima’s eyes fixed steadily on the swordsman. “However, the strength of the dose you must take is greater than any I have ever used on a patient before. And well outside the tolerance of most people.”

Zoro lifted his gaze to the doctor. “I can handle it.”

“I hope so.” Kawashima adjusted his spectacles slightly, before looking down at the glass bottle in front of him with a frown. “As a doctor, first and foremost, my oath is to do no harm. By giving you this treatment, I feel that I am breaking my oath. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Zoro looked at him for a long moment. At last he moved one hand, reaching across the table and holding it towards the elderly doctor. “I can do it myself. If you show me what to do.”

“Zoro…” Chopper spoke in a sober voice. “That’s not what Dr Kawashima means…”

“I know what he means.” Zoro kept his gaze steady on the older man, who still sat with his head bowed. “Look. I see that this isn’t an easy call for you to make. But you’ve been straight with me, about the risks. And I’ve made my choice. If you’ll help, then I’ll be grateful. If your conscience troubles you too much, give me that bottle and I’ll take it away and do it myself. Either way, I’m going to do this.”

Slowly Kawashima lifted his head, and regarded Zoro for a few seconds in silence. His gaze switched to Chopper; to Sanji; then back to the swordsman. Finally he let out a heavy sigh. “You are a most determined young man.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” muttered Sanji, earning himself a glowering look from Zoro.

 

 

Kawashima gave a small nod. “I will help you.” He picked up the bottle and drew its stopper, before taking the syringe and inserting its needle into the liquid just visible inside. Carefully the doctor half-filled the syringe, before setting the bottle back down on the table and re-stoppering it. Looking back to the swordsman, Kawashima gave the syringe a flick with one finger to expel any air bubbles, before depressing the syringe’s plunger just enough that a few drops of liquid beaded at the needle’s tip. “Before we begin, I will explain: your colleague here proposed a strategy whereby we could reduce the risks involved, at least a little.” He gestured at Chopper, who gave a quick nod. “Rather than give you the full remedy at first, we will break it down into two doses, spaced twenty-four hours apart. That way your system is less likely to be overwhelmed.”

“Good call, Chopper.” Sanji smiled at his crewmate, who flushed a little.

“Will it still work?” demanded Zoro bluntly.

“There is no reason why not,” answered Kawashima. “However, I warn you: you will still suffer strong effects from the anti-venom.”

“It’s going to be like getting stung all over again, Zoro,” said Chopper, an apprehensive expression on his face. “It won’t be easy.”

“Great.” Zoro frowned at the syringe in Kawashima’s hand. “So, whatever arm you stick that in is going to go numb again?”

Kawashima shook his head. “In preparing the anti-venom, we have been able to reduce some of its effects. There should be little or no paralysis. But you can expect there to be pain. And also fever; headache; probably nausea. Your body will have to develop antibodies to the venom, to reverse the effects it has had on your system. Until it has done this, you will feel severely unwell.”

 

There was a brief silence. Then Zoro unfolded his right arm, resting it on the table in front of Kawashima. “Stick it in this one.” He gave a mirthless smile. “What the hell: at least both arms will match.”

 

 

That Kawashima was a skilled physician was no longer in any doubt. Sanji could see from the precise way the older man slid the needle into the vein in the crook of Zoro’s arm that the medic was more than capable of doing the job before him. As Kawashima depressed the syringe plunger and the first dose of the anti-venom went home, Zoro let out a slight grunt, quickly suppressed. A couple of seconds later Kawashima withdrew the needle, the syringe now empty: he pressed a small square of linen onto the crook of Zoro’s arm and made the swordsman place his hand over it. Glancing up at a clock on the wall, he said to Chopper, “The second dose will be given at half past twelve tomorrow afternoon.”

Sanji watched Zoro. The swordsman seemed to be waiting for the drug to kick in, apparently unaffected. Then the cook saw his right hand suddenly clench; followed by a breath sharply pulled in. His other hand tightened on his arm, gripping until his knuckles whitened. “Nngh - ”

_Like getting stung again._ Sanji remembered weeks ago, rowing back to the Going Merry with Zoro bent over his stricken arm, the sweat standing out on his skin. Sanji’s eyes found Chopper: the little reindeer was sitting poised on the edge of his chair, his anxiety for his suffering nakama evident.

 

Zoro’s head came up: he released his grip on his elbow, before folding his right arm across his chest and hugging it hard against his body. “Ffff - ” His eyes darted to Kawashima, before he pushed his chair back with a scraping sound, getting to his feet. “Need some – air.” Without another word, he made for the door that led to the rear of the house and the garden.

“Someone must go with him.” Kawashima nodded after the swordsman.

With a sigh, Sanji got to his feet. “I’ve got it.”

 

 

 

Warm afternoon sunshine struck pleasantly through Sanji’s shirt as he stepped in between the tanks of sea creatures and beds of plants in the garden. Looking up, he saw the sky was a flawless blue, a single cloud drifting across. A beautiful day. Sighing, he walked down a narrow stone-flagged path until he saw Zoro standing at the furthest edge of the garden, his back turned. Stopping an arm’s reach away, he said quietly, “You okay?”

“What do you think?” Zoro’s voice was rough. “ _Fuck_ …”

“Don’t say that you weren’t warned.”

“Didn’t need that pointing out.” Zoro let out a hard breath. “Fucking _hell_ …”

Sanji took out a cigarette and lit it, speaking mildly. “Maybe you ought to sit down.”

“I don’t want to sit down.” Zoro’s shoulders were tensed, his back rigid.

“Okay. Then I will.” Sanji brushed some leaves off a weathered wooden bench, before settling himself on one end of it. “Incidentally, I suspect that Kawashima probably won’t be bothered by any bad language you might let slip in front of him. The guy’s used to treating sailors, so I’m guessing he’s probably heard some pretty fruity phrases over the years.” He paused, watching the swordsman’s back. “Or did you come out here for another reason?”

“Needed some _space_.” There was a hard emphasis on the last word.

“Well, Kawashima said someone should keep an eye on you, so tough luck.” Sanji blew out smoke. “Having any second thoughts yet?”

“Drop dead, shitty cook.” Zoro’s head bent forwards, air hissing in between tight-set teeth.

Sanji felt his own jaw clench. “Oi. Sit down before you fall down, you fucking idiot.”

 

 

Slowly Zoro turned around, glaring at the cook… Before stepping forward and ungraciously sitting on the other end of the bench. There was a silence that stretched for a couple of minutes. At last, Sanji spoke again. “You know, that old guy is taking a risk too. By doing this.”

“Yeah. I worked that out.” Zoro was staring fixedly at the ground, his jaw still tensed.

“And Chopper’s involved as well. He helped Kawashima prepare the anti-venom.” Sanji leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees, watching smoke from the tip of his cigarette spiralling upwards.

“So?”

“So you not coming through this okay would seriously inconvenience some people. So you better damn well come through it.”

Zoro shot him a grim sidelong smile. “Does ‘some people’ include you, cook?”

“Well, as I’d have the trouble of burying your oversized carcass, yeah.” Sanji flicked ash away, frowning as he returned his cigarette to his mouth and drew hard on it.

Zoro regarded him for a few moments, before returning his gaze to the ground. “Don’t worry.”

 

 

Footsteps made both men look up. Chopper came into view, threading his way down the path that wound through the garden. Seeing them on the bench the little doctor looked relieved: he stopped beside the bench, a cup held carefully in one hand. First glancing at Sanji, Chopper looked at Zoro. “I thought I better come out too, to check on you. How is it feeling, Zoro?”

Zoro lifted his gaze and regarded the little doctor from under lowered brows. “As advertised.”

Chopper gave a small nod. “I’m sorry. There was no way we could reduce the side effects any further, without making the anti-venom useless as a cure.” He looked down at the cup he was holding, before offering it to the swordsman. “This will help a little, if you drink it straight away.”

Zoro studied the cup… Before taking it and wordlessly knocking back its contents, swallowing Chopper’s medicine down in four gulps. Immediately afterwards he grimaced, making a sound of disgust. “Ugh… You need to get the cook here to give you some tips, Chopper. That tastes even worse than the last thing you dosed me with.”

“I’m sorry,” said Chopper again, retrieving the empty cup. “It’s the herbs, they are very bitter – but I think they will help - ”

“Stop apologising.” Zoro turned his gaze back on him and gave the little reindeer a steady look. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Chopper met his gaze with an apprehensive expression. “I will do everything I can, to help Dr Kawashima cure you.”

“I know.” Zoro’s look softened a little. “Cut yourself some slack, Chopper. You helped Kawashima make the anti-venom: you’ve already helped me, a lot.” He started to shrug, but the movement jarred his right arm and he let out a grunt of pain, his eyes closing briefly. When he opened them again Chopper was watching him worriedly. “It’s okay. I may feel shitty for a couple of days, but once I’ve taken the second dose of the anti-venom, I’ll be done with all of this. I’ll be better. So it’s worth it.”

 

After a moment, Chopper gave a small nod. “Dr Kawashima asked me to tell you that there is a bed prepared, for you to use.” He glanced back towards the house. “He sometimes takes patients in to his house to treat them, if they require round-the-clock care.”

“It’s the middle of the day, Chopper. I’m not about to go to bed.” Zoro scowled.

“What the ungrateful moss-head meant to say was, ‘Please convey my thanks to Dr Kawashima, I am most appreciative of his consideration’ ,” Sanji said dryly.

“I don’t need an interpreter, shitty cook!”

“Yeah? Those who know you would beg to differ.” Sanji nodded at Chopper. “Go with what I said,  and ignore this charmless moron.”

 

Chopper looked from the cook to the swordsman, before giving a small nod. “The medicine I just gave you should help with the pain. Tell me if it doesn’t.”

“It’s not so bad.” Zoro muttered this from between close-set teeth.

Chopper regarded him steadily for a moment, the expression on his face showing that he wasn’t deceived by the swordsman’s response. “And you should try to drink as much water as possible, to flush the toxins out of your system. That will also help.” As Zoro looked up, an apparent question evidently forming on his lips, Chopper pre-empted him. “And no alcohol.”

There was a longish pause, before Zoro acknowledged the little doctor’s instructions with a frown and monosyllabic acquiescence. “Okay.”

 

Chopper turned to Sanji, who gave his small nakama a sympathetic smile. “You look beat, Chopper. You and Kawashima must have been up half the night preparing the anti-venom. Why don’t you get some rest for a couple of hours? I can keep an eye on things out here.”

Chopper blinked, then rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Well… I suppose I could do. But you must call Dr Kawashima if there is any change. He’s just inside.”

“No problem.” Sanji waved his hand at him dismissively. “Go lie down. We’ll keep you posted if anything interesting happens, like the marimo’s arm falling off.”

“Or a certain shitty cook finding himself on the wrong end of my fist,” growled Zoro.

 

Chopper elected to beat a diplomatic retreat. “Um… I’ll be getting some rest, then. But just come and fetch me if you need me.” He turned and headed away up the garden path, until his small form was lost to view between the beds of plants.

Sanji watched him go, before turning back to Zoro with a sigh. “You’re not exactly making it easy on him, when all he’s trying to do is help.”

“I know he’s helping me. I said so.”

“Yeah, you were a prince of gratitude.”

Zoro leaned forward with his forehead supported by one hand, elbow resting on his knee. “You know what? Right now I could do without the lessons in etiquette.”

Sanji regarded the swordsman. Zoro’s right hand was clenched into a fist: sweat was beginning to bead on his face and neck. Sanji mentally backed off, though all he said aloud was, “Duly noted.”

 

 

Zoro shut his eyes. Sanji watched him for a few minutes more, silently drawing on his cigarette. When it was finished he dropped it onto the ground and trod it into the path. Then he said in the most unprovocative tones he could muster, “You know, middle of the day or not… Maybe you could go lie down, anyway.”

Zoro opened his eyes: lifted his head from his hand and sat upright, glaring at the cook. “I don’t need to lie down.”

Sanji met his glare with a steady look of his own. “What’s the big problem? Normally you spend half the day flat out and snoring somewhere on deck. And right now it’s doctor’s orders. Maybe you should take advantage of it and grab the extra sack time.”

“I don’t - ” Zoro stopped himself, then gave an angry half-shake of his head, staring down at the path.

“What?” Sanji frowned.

“I don’t want to lie down.” Zoro’s response was in a low voice. “If I lie down, I’ll probably sleep. If I sleep, I’ll dream.”

Sanji watched him, frowning slightly. “So, what – you plan on not sleeping again till you’re cured? I don’t think so.”

Zoro’s mouth tightened stubbornly. “It’s only for a couple of days. I’ve done it before.”

“Yeah: and remember how that ended up?” Sanji felt impatience rising up in him.

“I don’t need you to remind me.” Zoro’s voice was harsh.

“I think maybe you do.” Sanji’s own voice grew hard to match it. “Look: I get it. You don’t want to have any more of those damn dreams. And thanks to Dr Kawashima, in a couple of days’ time you should be done with them. But in the meantime, chances are this anti-venom’s going to hit you hard enough that you’ll need to rest. So not resting is only going to make you worse. That’s a no-brainer, even for you.” He paused for a moment, studying the swordsman’s downturned head, the stubborn set of his mouth: let out a slow sigh. “And… They’re only dreams. You’ll wake up from them. Remember what I said, before. We’ll still be here when you wake up.”

 

Zoro stared at the path. Instead of the weathered grey stone slabs, he saw a form kneeling on the deck of the Going Merry, blonde hair falling forward; blood spreading in a dark pool around it. He heard the sound of the cook’s breath, driven out. Felt the heft of Wado Ichimonji’s hilt in his left hand, the weight of the katana as he began its downward swing.

 

 

A hand rested on his arm and he started. Opened his eyes, that he hadn’t even been aware that he’d closed.

“Oi.” Sanji spoke quietly, close to him. “When I said you’ll need to rest, I didn’t mean go to sleep here.”

Zoro blinked and saw the stone slabs of the path beneath his feet. Turned his head to look at the cook. Sanji met his gaze, assessing him, before letting go of his arm. “You _are_ awake, right?”

“Yeah.” Zoro was sure of that. The pain in his arm, despite Chopper’s medicine, was insistently there. He resisted the urge to cradle it against himself; instead he clenched his right hand into a tight fist, feeling tongues of fire burning through the muscles, spiralling through his shoulder. Kawashima had been right: there was no numbness and he could still move his hand and arm. The pain however was as fierce as the original cone shell sting had been. If anything slightly worse, without the numbness to mask it.

 

 

Sanji was still watching him. “It’s pretty bad… ne?”

Zoro shifted on the bench, the nails of his right hand digging into his palm. “Talk about something else.”

Sanji grimaced in sympathy. Leaning back against the bench and sliding his hands into his pockets, he said conversationally, “So… What do you think the chances are of Luffy lasting twenty-four hours before he tries to raid the fridge and Nami nails his hands to the deck?”

Zoro smiled in spite of himself. “I give him till midnight, tops.”

“I’ll bet Nami’s wise to the fact that Luffy’s a night raider. She’ll probably rig some kind of booby trap.” Sanji grinned. “That’s why I started sleeping in the galley, some nights. I was determined to catch that little fucker red-handed.”

“Bullshit, ero-cook.” Zoro was grinning too now. “You started sleeping in there because you hoped I’d drop by.”

“In your pathetic lonely dreams, craphead.” Sanji raised an eyebrow. “As I recall, you jumped me one night. It’s not like I was fixating on you or anything.”

“The boner in your pants said otherwise.”

 

Sanji reddened slightly, but narrowed his eyes. “While you were the model of restraint. Oh no, wait: I’m getting that wrong. You practically ripped my shirt off.”

“I _did_ rip your shirt off.”

“Yeah. Bastard.” Sanji tipped his head back, regarding the sky thoughtfully. “Never did find all the buttons, as I recall.”

“You didn’t seem too bothered at the time.” Zoro gave him a sidelong look. “Unless moaning ‘O god, do it harder’ was some kind of code.”

Sanji met his look with a level one of his own. “Yeah, well: that was a one-time deal. Regarding shirt buttons, that is,” he clarified, at Zoro’s eyebrows hiking upwards with an incredulous grin.

 

 

There was a moment of quiet between them then. Zoro’s grin relaxed into an almost easy smile; his gaze shifted away, settling onto the garden in front of them. Sanji rested his shoulders comfortably against the bench, tilting his head back to look up at the sky once more. A few more clouds had appeared: one drifted across the sun, dimming its warmth for a few moments before moving onwards. As he watched, a gull coasted into view, delivering its high mewing cry before it winged out of sight.

A slight sound from beside him made him look at Zoro. The swordsman’s left hand had clamped around his right arm: the smile had gone. “You okay?”

Zoro‘s mouth thinned out, the knuckles of his hand whitening. After a few seconds, his lips parted and he took a short breath in. Slowly he let the breath out, before making his reply. “Don’t keep asking me that, cook. It’s gonna get boring.”

Sanji looked at him for a moment longer… before giving a nod. “Point taken.” He stood up. “I’m going to fetch us both a drink. It’s warm out here. You want anything to eat?” Zoro gave a single deliberate shake of his head. “Okay. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

 

 

As Sanji’s footsteps faded away down the path, Zoro continued to sit with his gaze fixed on the garden in front of him, his hand still clamped around his right arm. When the only sound was that of the bees humming in the flowers and the slight breeze moving against his skin, he gave a brief look sideways to confirm that the cook was out of sight. That done, he bent forwards over his arm, letting out an exhaled sound that came before he could stop it. His teeth clenched: he felt the fingers of his left hand digging into the flesh of his upper arm, shaking.

_Fuck._

The shooting fire extended from the crook of his elbow through his shoulder and into his chest now, as if his veins were running with scalding liquid instead of blood. Zoro was used to pain, and used to having to bear it; he knew he could handle this. Yet there was something uniquely unpleasant about having this creeping fire circulating inside him, rather than a straightforward wound. It wasn’t something that could be stitched, or bound up. It could only be endured.

He managed to straighten back up, fingers still clenched on his arm. Breathed deliberately slowly, in and out. His gaze rested on the flowers in front of him: doggedly he began mentally listing the colours he could see there. _Orange. White. Pink._ Sweat was trickling down his back, sticking his shirt to his skin. _Pale blue, the colour of the sky. Dark red, like that overpriced wine the cook sometimes drank. Flame yellow, a candle lantern at dusk._

 

 

A footstep scraped on the path beside him. “Ehi, here.” Sanji’s hand extended into his line of vision, holding a glass of water. “It’s nice and cool.”

Zoro let go of his right arm and reached out, taking the glass. Sanji was right: the glass felt cold in his fingers, its sides beading with moisture in the warm air. He took a gulp, shutting his eyes for a moment as the cool liquid slid down his throat. When he opened them again the cook was sitting beside him, sipping his own glass of water. Sanji saw him looking, and lifted his glass to chink slightly against the rim of the swordsman’s before taking another drink. “Kanpai. Or maybe better we should say, Santé.”

Zoro took another sip himself before resting his glass on his knee, still holding it. “Santé?”

“French for ‘cheers’. But actually it means ‘good health’.” Sanji cupped his glass with both hands. “Seems like the right thing to wish for, given the circumstances.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Zoro gave Sanji a mock salute with his glass, before downing another mouthful.

 

 

For some time the two men sat side by side on the bench, sipping their water. The faint breeze grew gentler still, almost dying away: overhead the clouds barely moved against the bright sky. Insects hummed as they zipped through the flowers; the occasional gull keened as it coasted past high above them.

Sanji took out his cigarettes again: tapped one on his palm before putting it in his mouth and lighting up. He turned his gaze sideways, giving Zoro an assessing look. The swordsman’s eyes were almost closed, his legs stretched out in front of him onto the path, crossed at the ankles. He’d finished his water and the empty glass stood on the bench. His left hand lay loosely on his thigh, but the right was still closed into a tight fist and a frown was pulling his brows together. As Sanji watched, Zoro’s arm twitched, his shoulder tensing upwards. Sanji heard the slow deliberate breath out the swordsman gave.

Drinking the last mouthful of his own glass of water, the cook picked up Zoro’s empty glass with his own and stood up. “I’ll fill these up again. You sure you don’t want anything to eat? It’s lunchtime, after all.”

Zoro shook his head. “No thanks.”

“I took a quick look round Kawashima’s kitchen. It’s not too badly equipped, considering. I guess he probably uses it for making his medicines as well as for cooking. Though he hasn’t got much in the way of ingredients, I’ll have to head out and buy some stuff. I was thinking of making misoshiru, I brought the basics with me.” Sanji paused, looking at the swordsman. “Unless there’s something else you’d rather eat?”

Zoro shut his eyes, leaning further back against the bench. “Whatever.” A drop of sweat tracked down the side of his face and slid down his neck.

Sanji clenched his teeth on his cigarette, but decided against further enquiry. “Okay then.” Turning his heel, he walked back to the house.


	16. Fever In Your Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji looks after Zoro. Which is easier said than done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got sidetracked this week by writing a Zoro childhood fic (So Grows The Tree, also posted on here), but I'm back on this now. Normal service is resumed.
> 
> There are going to be somewhat graphic descriptions of illness from here on in, because... Well, because being ill sucks, basically, and to pretty it up would be pointless. Consider yourself warned, gentle reader.

_Our monkey’s messing with that medicine_  
 _And you’re beat down with the Jones_  
 _I see ya sweating, shaking, your body’s aching badly  
_ _Feel the fever in your bones, now_

_\- Alabama 3_

 

 ---

 

In the house’s small kitchen, Sanji found Dr Kawashima pouring boiling water into a small china teapot. The pleasantly bitter scent of green tea reached Sanji’s nose as he crossed to the sink and refilled the two glasses. “Excuse me. I’m just fetching some more water.”

“Yes? Good, good.” Kawashima carefully placed the lid on the teapot. “Your friend should drink a great deal of water.”

“Yeah, Chopper mentioned that.” Sanji leaned against the sink, propping one elbow against it. “Uh… I was thinking… I’m no doctor, obviously. But I can make myself useful: I’m the cook on our ship. So I could cook the meals, while we’re staying here at your house. If you’ll permit me to make use of your kitchen.”

Kawashima regarded him with a quizzical look. “Most civilly requested, indeed.”

Sanji shrugged. “I wouldn’t cook in someone else’s kitchen without their permission.”

“You are most welcome to make use of what little I have here.” Kawashima held out a hand towards the simply-equipped space. “I’m afraid that as an old man living alone, my culinary efforts tend to be somewhat, mhm, cursory these days. I prepare more medicinal creations than food, here.”

“Thank you. And it’s fine.” Sanji smiled. “And don’t worry: I plan to go out in a little while to buy some ingredients, so we won’t be eating you out of house and home.”

Kawashima smiled in return. “You are welcome to use whatever I have, including vegetables from my garden. After all, you are my guests… Allow me to offer you every hospitality.”

“That’s most generous.” Sanji bowed politely at the older man. “But I will go out to buy some provisions, to lessen the inconvenience.” _Because when Luffy shows up here, he will eat everything he finds. Probably including some of the old man’s marine collection, if he gets half a chance._

 

“Young man, you are courteous.” Kawashima picked up the teapot and poured a stream of tea into a small cup. “Most unexpectedly so. I was given to believe that pirates were unmannerly ruffians, but you seem the soul of good manners.”

Sanji’s mouth gaped open a little, before his drooping cigarette alerted him to shut it again. After a few seconds, he said in a voice that was only slightly uneven, “Uh – pirates?”

“Yes.” Kawashima proffered the teapot towards him. “May I offer you some tea?”

“No. Thank you.” Sanji stared at the elderly doctor. “Who told you we were pirates?”

“One of my neighbours came this morning, before you and your sick friend arrived.” Kawashima took a sip of his steaming tea. “Your other friend, Mr Chopper, was busy preparing herbs when I answered the door. My neighbour told me that you and your friends had arrived in a ship flying a pirate flag, and he warned me against helping you. He said that you were likely to bring trouble.”

 

Sanji regarded him for a moment. “Oh. So… ah…” He wasn’t sure of how to handle this. “Does that mean us being here is going to cause you problems with the locals?”

“I sincerely hope not, indeed.” Kawashima returned his gaze with a steady one of his own. “I gave my neighbour an assurance that to my knowledge, you were not likely to be troublesome.”

“Right.” Sanji was finding the old man’s eyes uncomfortably clear-seeing. “Yeah. Well, that’s true. We won’t be.”

“Polite; courteous; and not given to causing trouble.” Kawashima’s brows lifted, as he took another sip of his tea. “You are most unusual pirates, it would seem.”

“You could say that.” Sanji wondered briefly what Kawashima would make of Luffy when their unruly captain made his appearance, then quickly decided to cross that bridge when it came to it. “Doctor… your neighbour was right. We are pirates. But we don’t mean any harm to anyone here in Muna. Right now, all we’re concerned with is making sure that Zoro gets cured. And as soon as he’s recovered, we’ll be on our way.”

“Thank you for your assurances, young man.” Kawashima gave a nod of acknowledgement. “You must make allowances for the people here. Many are uneducated and given to fears of the unknown and the unfamiliar. We are a sea port town, so strangers constantly come and go. They bring their money and their business, and sometimes they bring trouble. Local girls are left with children whose fathers doubtless forgot their mothers’ names within days of leaving here. Sons leave their families, lured away by promises of adventure and fortune on the ocean in exchange for a hard-working life on their family’s land. The people of Muna have much to thank the sea for, but they do not trust it; and they do not trust those who live upon it.” He let out a quiet sigh.

 

Sanji nodded at the older man’s words. “People fear what they don’t understand. I get that. But you needn’t worry. Like I said, we won’t be any trouble.” He thought for a moment, before continuing. “There are only four others in our crew. You’ve met one of them already: Robin, who was with me and Chopper when we first came looking for you. There’s Nami, our navigator; and Usopp, who takes care of our ship. And then there’s our captain, Luffy.” He paused again. Knowing exactly what to say about Luffy was always tricky.

“Your captain? Ah.” Kawashima nodded seriously. “I would imagine he is a very powerful man, to be leading a crew of pirates.”

“Luffy? Uh, yeah. He’s… strong.” Sanji searched for a suitably innocuous description. “But he’s not a troublemaker.” His conscience seriously prodded him at that statement. “The worst that Luffy might do would be to eat you out of house and home. Which is why I plan to head out and get some food. Some of the others will drop in here this evening, to lend a hand. I’ll cook a meal that will feed everybody; as long as Luffy’s got a full plate he’s happy.”

 

Kawashima smiled. “Your fellow crewmembers will be welcome here.”

“What about your neighbours?”

“They will have to tend to their own business.” Kawashima shrugged. “As for myself: a doctor is concerned with healing the sick. Your friend requires my care, and that is all that concerns me as physician. It is not my affair what lives my patients lead. I heal the body: I do not pass judgement on any other parts of a man’s life.”

 

The doctor’s candour was refreshing: Sanji found himself smiling back at the older man. “That’s a good attitude. If more people shared it, life would be a lot simpler.”

“Perhaps. Yet it is not an outlook that comes easily to many, I fear.” Kawashima pushed his spectacles more securely onto his nose, before giving a small shake of his head. “Folk seem to find comfort in judgement, and looking down upon their fellow men. The few who do not conform, or who pursue their own interests, seem to attract the ridicule or condemnation of the many. The stranger and the outsider are more often greeted with suspicion, than welcomed as a source of interest and innovation. We all have minds that are capable of holding the universe within them… And yet for most, they are small, locked rooms with no light within.”

Sanji looked at the doctor silently. The older man seemed lost for a moment in heavy musings. Then he seemed to collect himself: settled back his drooping shoulders, and gave Sanji a polite smile. “Please excuse an old man’s ramblings.”

“No excuse necessary.” Sanji meant it. He wondered what thoughts the doctor had temporarily strayed within. Not that it was any of his business. He decided to try to shift the subject onto sunnier topics. “Speaking of interests, I was wondering… What led you to become interested in studying sea life?”

 

The change of subject worked: Kawashima immediately brightened. “My collection? Ah, that has been my interest for many, many years. I first became interested in shells as a child. Many hours I spent wandering the shoreline, looking for different types to add to my hoard. Then when I grew older and began studying medicine, I had little time to devote to my passion. But in later years I have had more leisure, and have been able to dedicate many hours to improving my knowledge. When money allows, I buy books by experts in the field. And of course I add to my specimens whenever I can, studying them as best as my poor talents permit me and making notes of my observations.” He was almost beaming, but caught himself and made a deprecating gesture. “Of course, it is just an old man’s obsession. Of little interest to anyone else, save a few scholars elsewhere that I occasionally correspond with. Certainly not interesting to a young man like yourself.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Sanji shook his head. “The sea fascinates me. Always has done. I’m no scholar, like you… Most of what I know about sea life, I know because I’m a chef. But I make it my business to learn at least a little, about every sea animal I’ve ever used in my cooking. And it’s the reason I ever came here, to the Grand Line.”

“To learn about marine life?” Kawashima regarded him quizzically.

“To find a particular place.” Sanji suddenly realised what he was about to speak about, and felt hesitant. “At least… To look for it.” He found himself reluctant to elaborate, but decided that having gone so far he might as well say it all. “Have you ever heard of All Blue?”

“All Blue?” Kawashima’s steady gaze did not waver.

Sanji found himself folding his arms across his chest, unconsciously defensive. “A place where all the oceans meet. East Blue, West Blue, North Blue, South Blue. And where all the life of those four oceans can be found.” He waited for the doctor’s polite denial that any such thing could exist.

 

“It sounds most fascinating.” Kawashima gave a slow nod. “I wish you luck in your search.”

Sanji blinked. “So… You think such a place could be out there?”

“Why not? The ocean is home to extraordinary mysteries. Remarkable beauty: extreme dangers. A place such as you describe would indeed be a marvel; yet within the realms of possibility.”

“That’s not what people usually say, when I talk about it,” said Sanji wryly.

“You must make allowances for those minds that are small, dark, locked rooms.” Kawashima smiled at him. “And yet keep space for the universe within your own.”

Sanji held the doctor’s gaze for a moment… Before giving him a slow smile in return. “I’ll try to remember that.”

 

The sound of footsteps approaching the doorway of the kitchen made both men look round. In the passageway Zoro came into view, evidently questing for something. The swordsman paused before the doorway, glancing inside and looking from Sanji to the doctor.

“You came for this?” Sanji held up the refilled glass of water. “I was just about to bring it out.”

“No.” Zoro frowned at the offered glass.

“You going to check out where the bed is, then?” Sanji regarded the swordsman assessingly. “You look like you could use a lie down - ”

“I don’t want a bed, idiot cook.” Under his tan, Zoro had gone a sickly colour: sweat stood out on his forehead.

“Then tell me what you do want and I’ll get it for you. You don’t look like you could walk five steps without keeling over.”

“All I need is a bathroom.” Zoro’s gaze switched to Kawashima.

The doctor indicated with a pointing finger. “Just a little way up the passage, the second door on the right hand side.”

 

Turning swiftly on his heel without another word, Zoro vacated the kitchen, leaving Sanji frowning behind him. The cook looked ruefully at Kawashima. “Apologies. Even for him, that was ill-mannered.”

“No apology necessary.” Kawashima shook his head. “Your friend is obviously starting to suffer the ill effects of the anti-venom. I doubt I would have much attention to spare for civilities, in his position.”

“I better go check on him, make sure he managed to find the bathroom.” Sanji had little faith in Zoro’s directional abilities at the best of times, never mind when the swordsman was functioning below par. “Then I think I better head out and buy some food to prepare.”

“As you wish.” Kawashima gave a quick bow of his head. “I will care for your friend, rest assured.”

 

As he walked down the passageway, Sanji reflected that it was just as well that Kawashima  was an experienced doctor. Having had sailors as his patients for many years was probably good preparation for handling an ailing swordsman, but even so Sanji hoped that his promises that the Mugiwara would be no trouble proved reliable.

The second door on the right was shut when he reached it. Standing in front of it, he gave the wood a light double-knock with one knuckle. “Oi… You alive in there, marimo?”

There was a short pause, before Zoro’s voice answered tersely, “…Yeah.”

“You need anything?”

“Nghh…” There was another short pause, then sounds came that even through the closed door clearly indicated that Zoro was getting forcibly reacquainted with his breakfast. Sanji grimaced.

 

After a minute or so, things got a little quieter. Sanji decided to risk another cautious enquiry. “So… You don’t want any help in there, I’m guessing.” There was an unintelligible mutter from the other side of the door. Sanji scowled. “Oi, mosshead: speak up. Otherwise I’m gonna assume you need rescuing, and I’m pretty sure the good doctor won’t thank me for busting down his bathroom door.”

“Fuck off… shitty cook.” This was clearly enough enunciated that Sanji had no trouble hearing it.

“Right.” Sanji stepped back from the door. “I’m heading out for a while, but Kawashima’s going to keep an eye on you. Try not to mess up the fixtures in there, eh?” His only answer was another indistinct mutter.

 

Sanji found his way through to the doctor’s study. Kawashima was sat at his desk, writing in a notebook; on the couch, Chopper lay curled up in a doze. Pausing only to pick up a rug from the back of the couch and drape it lightly over his sleeping nakama, Sanji moved to his bag on the floor and took out some money. Standing up again, he tipped his head towards the direction of the bathroom. “He’s, uh… throwing up. But he’s still talking. Well, swearing,” he amended, raising one eyebrow. “So I figure that’s a good sign.”

Kawashima acknowledged the information with a nod. “I suspected as much. Unfortunately, there’s little I can do to lessen the toxic effects of the anti-venom. The constituents that will trigger the formation of antibodies do so by attacking the body’s defences. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid this is just the beginning of an extremely unpleasant ordeal for your friend.”

Sanji took a cigarette out. “Yeah. I figured as much.” He gave the doctor a shrug. “You were pretty clear about what the side effects might be. But Zoro’s tough. He’ll be okay.”

Kawashima regarded him soberly for a moment. “I’m glad that you have so much faith in your friend’s stamina.”

“Heh… You don’t know the half of it.” Sanji grinned around his cigarette, before turning and making his way to the door.

 

 

 

Walking through the streets in the warm afternoon sunshine for a few hours and hunting for good bargains in Muna’s food shops and market was a welcome distraction. Sanji took his time about appraising and choosing produce, creating a menu in his mind for meals for that evening and the following day. There would possibly be a small crowd to feed at supper, depending on how many of the remaining Mugiwara came from the Going Merry: and if Luffy was one of them, Sanji couldn’t make too much food. Then there was Zoro, of course. The swordsman was unlikely to be eating much while the nausea kept up, but Sanji would prepare something anyway. His original plan of cooking misoshiru probably made most sense. Something light and easy to get down. And maybe the spice tea he’d used before on Going Merry, to settle Zoro’s sickness when he’d first got stung.

 

Sanji found himself standing gazing at a fruit stall almost unseeingly, hands in his pockets. In front of him fruit was stacked in pyramids, heaped in baskets, a sweet blend of different scents reaching him. Normally he would be picking fruit up, smelling it, testing its ripeness with the gentlest pressure of his fingers; scoring the rind of a citrus with a fingernail to inhale its heady kick; slicing open a melon to taste its fragrant sweetness.

 

_Six weeks ago. Searching for seafood. That’s how all this started._

 

It seemed unbelievably far off now, the sunny little summer island. And such a small thing had caused this: Zoro seeing the shell, reaching down and picking it up. He could just as easily have left it where it was. Or walked past it, not seeing it at all.

Sanji realised that his jaw was clenched. He forced it to relax: took out his cigarette, exhaling a stream of smoke. Stared at the tempting array of fruit in front of him.

_All because you wanted to experiment with a new dish. And now he’s having to go through that same pain, that same suffering, all over again._

The colours of the fruit seemed suddenly garish. Sanji’s stomach tightened.

_You think you can fix all this by cooking some fucking miso soup?_

 

“Ehi, young man!” A woman’s voice jolted through his thoughts. “Are you looking for something in particular?” The fruit stall holder, a cheerfully smiling lady in a pink headscarf, came into his view. “These peaches are beautifully ripe, just came in today. They melt in your mouth!”

Sanji looked at the downy-skinned peach the woman was holding in her outstretched hand; then up at her smiling face. With an effort, he brought himself back into the here and now. “Thank you. They look great.” He took the fruit gently and lifted it to his nose: inhaled its soft fragrance. “Hm. May I try it?”

“Of course!” The woman offered him a knife. “Be my guest.”

Sanji cut a slice from the peach and placed it in his mouth; chewed meditatively. A burst of sweet juice ran like sunshine over his tongue. From the sectioned peach in his hand, a drop of juice slid across his palm and ran down his wrist. “Delicious. I’ll take a dozen. And some of those bananas.”

He chose several more fruits, adding them to the rest of the food he’d already bought. The bags and parcels were a little heavy, and certainly bulky, but Sanji was used to carrying quantities of food both cooked and uncooked. He settled his purchases securely, before making his way out of the market and back up the hill to Kawashima’s home.

 

Arriving at the doctor’s doorstep, Sanji swung the knocker and waited, his eyes travelling around the surrounding houses. A couple of locals were within view, watching him: Sanji wondered if the neighbour who’d informed Kawashima that the Mugiwara were pirates was amongst them.

The door creaked open, revealing Chopper. “Oh - it’s you, Sanji.” The little reindeer stood to one side allowing the cook to enter. “You’ve been gone a while. Dr Kawashima said you left early this afternoon, to buy food.”

“Yeah.” Sanji edged past Chopper, slightly hampered by the packages he was carrying. “Give me a hand with this stuff to the kitchen, will you?”

“Of course.” Chopper relieved the cook of some of his burdens, absently hanging one bag from his antlers. “You seem to have bought plenty.”

“It’ll all get used.” Sanji walked down the passageway into the rear of the house, turning into the kitchen at the end. “Some of the others will be coming here this evening, so they’ll need feeding as well as ourselves. And even if he’s not got much appetite, that crap swordsman will have to eat something too.” Sanji laid his assorted purchases on the kitchen counter, before turning to face Chopper. “Just stick that stuff down anywhere. I’ll figure where things need to go in a minute.”

 

Chopper deposited his load alongside Sanji’s. “I’m not sure Zoro will be able to eat anything for a while yet.” He spoke soberly.

Sanji paused in unpacking the bags. “He’s still throwing up?”

Chopper nodded. “Not so frequently… But yes.”

Sanji frowned. “Crap… Isn’t there anything you or Kawashima can give him, to help with that?”

Chopper shrugged helplessly. “What we could give him, we have done. But it’s the one of the effects of the anti-venom, Sanji. His body is trying to push it out of his system. He’ll just have to ride it out.”

Sanji looked towards the doorway. “Did you at least manage to get him to lie down and rest?”

Chopper looked apprehensive. “I tried… But he said he was fine where he was.”

“Don’t tell me… He’s still in the fucking bathroom?” Sanji slammed a bag of rice onto the counter hard enough to split it at one corner, scattering grains across the wooden surface. “Damn it!” He caught the few grains that spilled over the counter’s edge, tipping them back on top of it. Resting his palms flat down on the surface, he took a couple of deliberate breaths. When he turned round, Chopper was watching him nervously. “Ah… Sorry, Chopper.” He stared across the room moodily. “That idiot doesn’t need a doctor, he needs a babysitter.”

“I was sitting with him just now, until you came back.” Chopper shot a glance towards the doorway. “At least… I was sitting just outside the door, and looking in on him every now and then. And before that, Dr Kawashima was tending to him.”

“Chopper, you have the patience of a saint.” Sanji stepped away from the counter. “I, on the other hand, have no qualms about kicking that crap swordsman’s ass into bed, if that’s what it takes.”

“Um… Do you need my help?” Chopper asked carefully.

“If a doctor’s required, you’ll be the first one I call, Chopper. But I’ve got the ass-kicking covered.”

 

 

When Sanji approached the bathroom along the passageway, he saw that the door was ajar. Standing still outside for a moment, he listened: there was an encouraging absence of disagreeable noises from within. Raising one hand he knocked smartly on the door. “Oi, marimo. Make yourself decent, or whatever. I’m coming in.” He pushed the door further open, stepping inside.

The bathroom was small, lit by a square window at one end. A bath, washbasin and toilet filled most of its space: the rest was occupied by Zoro. The swordsman was sitting on the floor with his back against one wall, knees drawn up with his arms folded across them. His head was resting on his arms, but at Sanji’s footstep the swordsman straightened up and looked at him. “Mmh… What do you want, cook?”

“Thought I’d come and see how you were doing.”

Zoro let his head rest back against the wall behind him. “Great.”

“Yeah, you look it.” Sanji stopped just in front of him with his hands in his pockets, regarding the other man. “That whole death-warmed-over style really works for you.”

 

Zoro’s brows drew down. “Not… in the mood for your feeble wit right now, shitty cook.”

“Yeah? Tough.” Sanji was still taking in the other man’s appearance. Zoro had lost even more colour, and sweat stood out against the pallor of his skin. “Because I plan to keep inflicting it on you, until you quit being such a stubborn idiot and go to bed. Like Chopper and Kawashima both said you should do.”

“I’m okay here.” Zoro shut his eyes.

“Bullshit.” Sanji had seen a shiver run through the swordsman’s body. “You’re running a fever it looks like, and that wall you’re leaning against has more fucking colour than you do.” He waited for a moment, but Zoro made no reply; keeping his eyes closed. Taking a long breath, Sanji regarded the swordsman for a few more seconds. Then he slowly sat down cross-legged on the floor, just in front of the other man. “Oi. How long since you last threw up?”

Zoro’s mouth twisted slightly. He answered without opening his eyes. “A while ago. Half an hour, maybe.”

“Okay.” Sanji spoke quietly. “Then the chances are if you go lie down and rest, your stomach will settle. I can bring you some of that tea I made before, to help.”

Zoro let out a weary-sounding sigh. “I don’t need you hovering over me, damn cook.”

“Okay. No hovering.” Sanji kept his temper, with an effort. “But how about the going to bed part?”

 

Zoro opened his eyes, looking tiredly at the cook. Instead of answering the question, he asked one of his own. “What time is it?”

“Time?” Sanji was slightly thrown by this. “Uh… I don’t know. Late afternoon, I guess. Why?”

“…Lost track.” Zoro’s eyes travelled to the small window, where low-angled daylight was finding its way in. “I wasn’t sure… how long I’d been here.”

Sanji regarded him for a moment. “You remember Chopper checking on you? And Dr Kawashima?”

“Yeah.” Zoro’s gaze still rested on the window. “Just… Not sure when.” He switched his eyes back to Sanji. “But… it’s late afternoon now. Right?”

“Right.” Sanji saw the swordsman shiver again. “I’ve been gone two, three hours. I went down into the town, to buy some food to cook for this evening.”

 

Zoro nodded slowly; then his lips parted and he drew in a breath. His shoulders suddenly tensed. Sanji was about to ask if the swordsman was all right, before he remembered this was a taboo line of inquiry. In any case, his unspoken question was soon answered. Zoro’s mouth set in a tight line – and then the swordsman moved swiftly from the wall to the toilet, reaching it just in time before he began to retch.

Sanji stood up quickly, but remained standing where he was for a few seconds. A feeling of helplessness swept over him: he wanted to help, to rescue, more than anything to somehow _stop_ what was going on. Yet all he could do was stand there and mentally berate himself for having been stupid enough even to mention food.

 

Zoro, kneeling and bracing himself by one arm, caught his breath; then dry heaved again. And again. It was a painful sound, worse to listen to than throwing up. Sanji found his hands clenching into fists. He made himself uncurl his fingers: took a deep breath, then walked to the washbasin. Picking up a washcloth, he turned on the cold tap and soaked the cloth, rinsing it through. Then he wrung it out and turned back to where Zoro still knelt, now breathing hard, his forehead resting against his arm. Sanji crouched down beside him. “Oi… You done?”

Zoro slowly and unsteadily lifted his head, before turning it to look with narrowed eyes at the cook. Raising his hand, he wiped his mouth; his hand shook and he clenched it into a fist. “Ughh…”

Sanji held out the washcloth. “Here.”

After a moment, Zoro took it. He pressed the damp cloth against his skin, holding it there for a few seconds before wiping it over his face. At last he crumpled it into a ball, closed in his fist. His head lowered, eyes shutting.

Sanji reached out and tapped his hand. “Give it to me.”

Zoro opened his eyes and regarded him. Sanji kept his open hand extended, his own eyes holding the swordsman’s gaze. “C’mon, marimo.” His tone was quiet. “Let me help.”

 

Zoro held his gaze a moment longer… Before opening his hand and letting the crumpled washcloth drop into Sanji’s. The cook rose and rinsed the cloth at the washbasin, before wringing it out again and laying it aside. That done, he turned and crouched down again on the floor. “Okay. How do you want to do this?”

Zoro looked at him. “Do what?”

“You’re going to go and lie down now, on a bed, rather than on the floor in here. You can walk there yourself, or I can kick your ass and drag you there. Which is it to be?”

“Kick my ass?” The corner of Zoro’s mouth twitched up. “I’d like to see you try, shitty cook.”

“If that’s what it takes, I’m up for the job. But it’d be a hell of a lot easier if you just went of your own accord.”

Zoro, another shiver running through him, just looked at the cook. Sanji felt a surge of frustration. “Stubborn dumbass... Do you _want_ to make this harder than it needs to be?” He stared at the other man, frustration building. Then he saw that Zoro’s hands had clenched into fists.

 

_\- If I lie down, I’ll probably sleep. If I sleep, I’ll dream._

 

Sanji let out a long, silent breath. Then he reached out and laid his hand on one of the fists. “Oi. It’s all right.”

Zoro went very still. Sanji kept his hand where it was. Underneath his fingers, he felt the heat of Zoro’s skin. “If you sleep, then you sleep. I told you before: we’ll be right there when you wake up.”

There was a long silence. Then slowly, Sanji felt the fist beneath his fingers unclench. He felt the tension in his chest ease a little too.

 

Zoro breathed in deliberately slowly… before getting to his feet. Once there he paused a moment, pressing a hand against the wall to steady himself. Then he gave his head a slight shake, and headed for the door. Sanji followed him into the passageway, to find Dr Kawashima waiting out there.

The old doctor regarded Zoro appraisingly before speaking. “I thought I had better check on my patient’s progress.” His concerned gaze travelled over the swordsman. “Young man, I have said this already, but I must advise you again: you really should rest.”

“Yeah… All right.” Zoro gave a nod that obviously threw his balance: Sanji saw the swordsman put out a hand again to hold onto the doorframe.

Kawashima blinked, surprised at the sudden success of his instruction. “Ah? Good.” He turned, beckoning with one hand. “There is a bed prepared; come.”

 

The room that the doctor led them to was small and simply furnished. A narrow bed made up with faded but clean linen stood with one end against the wall; a wooden chair flanked it on one side and a small table on the other. A narrow window partly shaded by a bamboo blind at half-mast let onto the garden: Sanji could see sprays of green leaves, some kind of climbing plant curling around the edges of the window frame.

Kawashima gave a small bow of his head, stepping to one side to allow them to enter. “Please make yourself comfortable. You will be undisturbed here: you can rest for as long as is necessary.”

 

Zoro looked around the little room, then down at the bed. His expression still suggested reluctance, but what was also clear was that it was only the swordsman’s customary stubbornness that was keeping him on his feet. Sanji had a shrewd notion that Zoro was unlikely to give in with an audience, so he drew back into the doorway and addressed Kawashima. “Well, I guess I better get started on preparing supper. Could you show me what vegetables in your garden it would be okay to use, doctor?”

Kawashima looked at him. “Yes, of course. This way.” He led them both back down the passageway in the direction of the garden.

 

Left alone in the bedroom Zoro took a step towards the bed, before sitting down on it heavily. For a long moment he simply stayed there, head slightly bowed. At last he took in a deep breath: lifted his head and looked around the room again. His eye fell on the window, which had been propped slightly open. A slight breeze drifted in from the garden, making the bamboo blind sway ever so slightly as he watched. The leaves framing the window trembled, then stilled again.

Bringing his attention back to the room, Zoro looked down at his boots. Bending down and hauling them off took most of his remaining energy, while causing a wave of dizziness to sweep through him that had him swallowing hard against a returning tide of nausea. His hands clenched onto the edge of the bed, as he breathed slowly in and out through his nose until the queasiness diminished. He shut his eyes for a moment, but that was a bad idea: the bed seemed to sway and tip underneath him, so that he quickly opened them again.

The pillow at the head of the bed looked like a pretty good place to get closer to right now. Zoro let himself lean sideways on one elbow, swinging his feet up off the floor and onto the bed. His head met the cool softness of the pillow and he found his eyes closing again of their own accord. The world swirled around a little, but Zoro was past caring. Now he was horizontal, he had absolutely no intention of moving again. A sickness still lurked in his stomach; his clothes were clinging to him with sweat; and the burning pain in his right arm remained just on the edge of tolerable. As he lay there with his eyes closed, he heard the brush of the wind-ruffled leaves at the window. A little more distant, somewhere out in the garden, a windchime rang softly. He focussed on the small high sound. Breathed slowly in and out.


	17. A Man You Must Believe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji has some questions for Dr Kawashima.

_If you’re down he’ll pick you up, Dr Robert_  
 _Take a drink from his special cup, Dr Robert_  
 _Dr Robert, he’s a man you must believe  
_ _Helping everyone in need_

_\- Lennon & McCartney_

 

\---

 

Sanji took his time organising things in the kitchen, after Kawashima had guided him to the neatly-planted rows of vegetables in the garden. The doctor was evidently as self-sufficient as he could be, unsurprisingly so given that his work provided only a meagre income. Sanji harvested frugally, leaving as much as he could without making it appear he was spurning the doctor’s generosity. He’d bought good amounts of fresh produce in the market, and from what he could see, Kawashima could ill afford to give away much of his own harvest.

Sanji’s first task was to brew a pot of the anti-sickness tea he’d made before and give it to Chopper with instructions to get Zoro to drink it while it was still warm. The little reindeer was gone for a while. Sanji had finished washing the few fresh greens he’d decided to take from Kawashima’s garden and was halfway through making the dashi he planned to use as a base for the misoshiru, when his small crewmate reappeared. Carefully Chopper set the teapot and empty cup he was carrying on the kitchen counter.

“He drink it?” Sanji didn’t look up from where he was sieving the half-finished dashi into a bowl.

“Most of it.”

“Good.” Sanji carefully emptied the last drops of stock from the pan into the sieve. “That should help. It did last time, though he never admitted it.”

“Any liquid he can drink will help.” Chopper wandered over to stand by Sanji’s side, watching the cook at work. “All that vomiting has made him dehydrated. Not to mention, he’s running a fever. I left him some water to drink as well, but he was on the edge of falling asleep so I thought it best to leave him for a little while.”

Sanji nodded, using the back of a wooden spoon to gently press the last of the stock from the kombu and katsuobushi in the sieve. “Yeah, probably a good idea.” He set the sieve to one side and picked up the bowl, pouring its contents into a nearby saucepan. “When I’ve finished making supper I’ll take him some soup. Hopefully his guts will have settled enough to manage it.”

 

Chopper propped his elbows on the kitchen counter. “I hope so too. If he doesn’t eat, he’ll be slower to recover.”

“Eh, you know Zoro.” Sanji gave a wry smile, reaching for the green onions he’d washed and laid nearby. “This thing he’s doing is tough, but he’s tougher.”

“I wish I was sure of that.” Chopper looked down at the floor with a frown. “After all, it’s already hitting him hard. And tomorrow, we have to give him that second dose of the anti-venom.”

Sanji didn’t like the way the little doctor’s voice sounded. He paused with a knife held above the onions on the chopping board, looking down at his crewmate. “But Kawashima said that would help… Splitting it into two doses.”

Chopper shrugged helplessly. “It’s better than it would have been to have given Zoro the whole thing in one go. That would have been more than even Zoro could have tolerated. But although we’re administering it in two separate doses, it’s still a lot for him to deal with. And remember: he was already sick when we arrived in Muna.”

 

Sanji frowned. “Then couldn’t you wait another day or two, before you gave him the second shot of that stuff? Give him time to recover a little?”

“No.” Chopper shook his head. “It won’t work if we space the doses too far apart. It has to be as Dr Kawashima said, the second one twenty-four hours after the first.”

Sanji slowly began slicing the onions, trying to let the familiar rhythm of the task settle the anxiety he could feel building in his chest. “Well, if that’s how it’s got to be, then that’s how it’s got to be. Kawashima seems to know his stuff. I guess we’ve just got to trust him.” There was a silence. After a moment, Sanji stilled his knife and looked at the little doctor who was motionless beside him, gaze turned downwards. “Chopper… You’re a doctor. A good one. Do _you_ trust him? I mean, do you think he knows what he’s doing?”

“I believe so.” Chopper’s voice was small. “But I also think that Dr Kawashima himself is seriously concerned about how Zoro will be affected by the second dose of the anti-venom.”

“Kawashima doesn’t know Zoro, like you know him.” Sanji waited until Chopper met his eyes, then nodded at him. “You’re the one who treated him after he got carved up by that Baroque Works bastard in Alabasta. Not to mention, getting shot and taking a dive off that tower. You know how strong Zoro is.”

“Yes. I do.” Chopper held the cook’s gaze worriedly. “But I don’t know much about cone shell venom. And Dr Kawashima does.”

“Shit, Chopper - ” Sanji turned sharply away from his crewmate, sweeping the sliced onion off his chopping board and into a bowl. “You’re not exactly sounding like the voice of confidence here. Zoro’s made his decision, he’s doing this. We need to help him. It’s a little fucking late for you to be having any second thoughts.”

 

An absolute silence greeted his statement. Sanji felt it stretch for a long moment; his jaw clenched. At last he set down his knife on the chopping board and slowly turned back to face the little doctor.

Chopper’s face was set in rigid control, but his distress was plainly evident in his averted eyes and the slight trembling of his shoulders. Sanji felt a heavy regret crawl into his chest and squat there.

 

_Nice work, asshole. Anyone else you want to blame, while you’re at it?_

 

He let out a low sigh. “Oi… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Chopper’s shoulders lifted in a wavering shrug. “No… You’re right. I just wish I knew more about this. I wish I could have helped Zoro sooner…”

 

_Oh fuck._ Sanji shook his head. “You did everything you could, Chopper. None of this is your fault. Anyway… What’s done is done. I know you and Kawashima are doing your best. And Zoro will be okay.”

Chopper took a deep breath; then gave a single determined nod. “I better go and sit with him now.” With that, he turned away and left the kitchen.

 

Left alone at the counter, Sanji stared at his chopping board without really seeing it.

_You stupid bastard. Why don’t you keep your big mouth shut?_

The look on Chopper’s face after Sanji had sniped at him filled the cook’s mind. If Sanji had been able to plant a kick up his own ass, he would have done it.

_As if this whole situation isn’t bad enough, without you spreading your pissy mood around._

 

He picked up the knife and began slowly and methodically slicing the onions, trying to focus only on the work in front of him. When they were done, he slid them neatly into a waiting bowl, before wiping down and turning to the next task in preparing supper.

 

_You can cook without fucking up. So just cook, and keep your comments to yourself._

 

 

It partially worked: the further he immersed himself in prepping and heating and seasoning, the less spare headspace he had for brooding on what was actually happening. As the late afternoon crept into evening and the light from the window began to fade, he put on the kitchen light before continuing with his work.

Neither Kawashima nor Chopper made an appearance while he was cooking, which was probably just as well. Sanji didn’t feel like he had much to say to either doctor at the moment: he felt he was probably (and deservedly) on Chopper’s shit-list, while it was unlikely that Kawashima could tell him anything he wanted to hear.

 

The best part of an hour had passed and supper was in its final stages when a loud knocking came from the direction of the passageway that led to the front door. Sanji looked up, in the middle of adding a little more dressing to the salad he was finishing; he was about to let someone else deal with answering the door, when it occurred to him that it might well be some of his nakama arriving as promised. The thought of Kawashima opening his front door and coming face to face with an exuberant Luffy made Sanji lay down his spoon and walk quickly down the passageway.

The door, as ever, stuck on opening and he had to help it on its way with a shove from his knee. It yielded to reveal, as he’d correctly predicted, a cheerfully-grinning Luffy with Robin bringing up the rear.

 

“Sanji!” Luffy bounded up the steps. “I smell cooking!”

“Come on in, why don’t you.” Sanji stepped aside in time not to be cannoned into, before ushering Robin over the threshold with a smile. “And yeah, supper’s almost ready.”

“Great. I’m sooooo hungry,” proclaimed Luffy in suffering tones. “Nami got Usopp to put a padlock on the galley door that only she’s got a key to, and she says no snacks while you’re away.”

Sanji grinned. “Remind me to kiss her feet when I get back to the Going Merry.”

“Where’s Zoro?” Luffy looked around as they headed down the passageway.

“Resting.” Sanji nodded his head in the direction of Kawashima’s guest room.

“This way? I’ll go see him.” Before Sanji could do anything sensible to stop him, their impulse-driven captain had dived off in the indicated direction.

“Oi! Don’t disturb him if he’s sleeping, craphead!” Sanji set off in pursuit, with Robin at his heels. They were only a few paces behind Luffy, who was already disappearing through the guestroom doorway. Sanji followed him in, all three coming to a halt inside the small room.

 

“Ehi, Chopper!” Luffy beamed at the little doctor. “How’s Zoro?” He looked down at swordsman who lay on the bed with eyes closed. “Is he sleeping? Let’s wake him up, otherwise he won’t know we’re here.”

Chopper’s medical instincts overcame his initial surprise. “Quiet, Luffy! Zoro needs to rest, you should let him sleep.”

Sitting beside Chopper, looking up at the new arrivals with curiosity, Kawashima slowly stood up, his gaze switching between Luffy and the other Mugiwara. “Ah… I gather that you are the captain of the ship? I am Dr Kawashima. Welcome to my home.” He nodded politely at his guests.

Luffy turned his attention to the old doctor. “I’m Monkey D. Luffy.” He sat down easily on the bed’s edge, making it creak. Reaching out with one hand, he patted Zoro’s leg firmly a few times. “Oi, Zoro… Wake up.”

Sanji stepped up beside the bed, resisting the urge to kick their captain onto the floor. “What part of _‘You should let him sleep’_ did you not understand, craphead?” He looked down, and saw that his admonition had come too late: Zoro’s brows creased into a frown, before his eyes slowly opened. They took in Luffy’s smiling face for a few seconds, before shutting again briefly. “…Mmh.”

“Me and Robin came to see you,” explained Luffy unnecessarily. “Tomorrow, Usopp and Nami will come.”

 

Zoro opened his eyes again and gazed at their captain for a moment, before looking around at the other people in the room. “…Right.” His voice sounded husky: Sanji saw him try to swallow dryly. Moving closer, the cook picked up the glass of water that stood on the nearby table and bent down, holding it out. “Here.”

Zoro pushed himself into a sitting position, his shoulders settling heavily back against the wall at the head of the bed. Once there, he accepted the glass of water from Sanji’s outstretched hand and lifted it to his mouth: took a swallow. That done, he let his hand holding the glass rest in his lap. Letting his gaze travel round the room again, he said, “Kind of… crowded in here.”

“We’ll leave you in peace now.” Robin smiled at him. “We just wanted to see how you were getting on.”

“Are you cured?” Luffy regarded the swordsman sceptically. “You don’t look cured.”

“Not yet, moron.” Zoro smiled wryly. “Gonna… take another day yet.”

“Hah?” Luffy tipped his head on one side. “Okay, then.”

“At least two more days,” interjected Chopper, determinedly.

Zoro glanced across at his small crewmate then, his mouth setting into a line. “Whatever.”

Sanji regarded the swordsman quietly, slipping his hands into his pockets. Zoro still looked washed out, and whatever sleep he’d managed to get before Luffy came barging in didn’t seem to have had any effect on the shadows etched under his eyes.  As he lifted the glass of water to take another sip, Sanji saw the swordsman’s hand shake slightly.

 

Kawashima, still standing taking in his guests, gestured slightly towards the doorway. “Mr Chopper spoke correctly: our patient does need rest. Allow me to show you through to a room where we may all sit. And I believe that supper may be forthcoming soon?” He looked enquiringly at Sanji.

“Uh, yeah.” Sanji gave a nod. “It’s about there.”

“Ah?” Luffy looked round at him eagerly. “I knew I could smell food.”

Sanji glanced at Zoro: the swordsman had let his head rest back against the wall, his eyes half closed. “Think you feel up to eating something? I was gonna bring you some soup.”

 

Zoro didn’t hear the cook’s question. The voices of the people in the little room seemed to blur into an indistinct noise, somewhere in the background. His head felt heavy, a dull ache pulsing within it. It was too damn warm in here, too: the wall behind his back felt soothingly cool against his sweaty skin.

The noise of the voices rose into a strange humming roar. The light abruptly grew too bright: he closed his eyes all the way against it.

 

_He was standing, arms raised and somehow immoveable. Sun shining blindingly into his face, so that when he opened his eyes at first all he could see was the silhouette of a figure in front of him._

_“Yabai… Not again.” The sun shifted and it was Luffy standing there, arms folded._

_Zoro could feel the ropes around his arms now, digging into his skin. The solid unyielding press of the wooden post at his back; another against his shoulders. The aches in his shoulders, his ribs; the bruises where fists and kicks had landed. “…Again?”_

_“You forget? We did this once already.” Luffy stared at him accusingly. “You said you were strong.”_

_“I am strong.”_

_“Liar.” Luffy gestured at him dismissively. “You’re weak. That’s how the Marines were able to put you here.”_

_Zoro gritted his teeth: felt his shoulders pull against the ropes, cutting them deeper into his flesh. “Shut up.”_

_Luffy shrugged. “This is no good. I’m gonna be King of the Pirates. I need my nakama to be strong, too.”_

_“Untie these fucking ropes and I’ll show you who’s strong.”_

_Luffy pursed his lips. “I don’t think so.” He looked away, over one shoulder. “They’re coming, anyway.”_

_“Who?” Zoro strained away from the wooden post, flexing his arms. The skin beneath the ropes was growing slippery with sweat or blood or both, he didn’t know. It hurt but he kept pulling, wanting only to break free, to prove he was strong enough._

_“The Marines.” Luffy looked back at him. “They announced it, in town this morning. They’re going to execute you at midday. So…” He tilted his head a little to one side. “Looks like your time is up, ne?”_

_“Luffy.” Zoro made his voice carry every ounce of threat he could. “Loose these damn ropes.”_

_“Nah…” Luffy shook his head. “If you can’t even break free, you’re no use to me. I don’t need you.” And he turned his back and walked away, his sandals scuffing up the dust._

_“Luffy!” His muscles ached as he still struggled to break free. “ Wait \- ”_

_Across the yard, two lines of men were filing in through a gate, rifles slung on their shoulders, making their way unhurriedly across the hard-baked ground. Luffy reached one hand to settle his hat more securely onto his head, before stretching up his other arm to the top of the wall. Pulled himself easily over, dropping out of sight._

 

_The men came into line with a rough stamp of boots. A shouted command led the clatter of rifles being brought up to shoulder height. And then there was just the sun glinting off the dull metal, the smell of his own sweat and the dust and the feel of the post at his back and nothing else, except the cold at his heart. And the inner voice that whispered,_

_\- Weak._

_He wouldn’t shut his eyes. So when the second shout came, he saw the flash and smoke before he heard the gunfire. Then weight slammed him back into the post, as the shots went home_

 

“Oi… Steady.” A hand touched his shoulder, and Zoro blinked. Sanji was leaning into his field of vision, a slight frown on his face. “You’ll spill it.”

Zoro blinked again, utterly adrift for a few seconds. He felt a hard surface against his shoulders; yet when he tried to lift his arms they shifted easily, no ropes binding them.

“Are you awake, marimo?” Sanji cocked his head slightly, peering into his eyes. “You look like you’re somewhere else.”

Zoro gave his head a slight shake, before pushing himself more upright against the solid thing he was leaning against. The wall, he remembered: the wall at his back. And he was still on the bed, sitting up; and the cook was sitting on it too, perched on one edge and holding a steaming cup of something in one hand. “…’M awake.”

 

Sanji regarded him a moment longer, before giving a nod. “Good.” He held out the cup: a waft of something savoury drifted towards the swordsman. “I made miso soup. Thought maybe you could try a little.”

After a brief pause, Zoro reached out and took the cup from the cook’s hand. Bringing it closer, he looked down into it, before lifting it to his mouth and taking a cautious sip. The salty taste and warmth as he swallowed flooded his senses for a moment: he had to bring the cup down and rest it against his thigh, while he focussed on the challenging act of making sure that the mouthful of soup he’d just drunk stayed in his stomach.

“Take it slow.” Sanji spoke as though sensing his discomfort. “If you manage to finish it, I can get a little more if you want.”

Zoro lifted the cup again and took a second swallow. This time the misoshiru went down more easily, but it still felt like it was taking an unreasonable amount of effort to do something as simple as drink a cup of soup. To distract himself, he asked a question. “Where’d everyone go?”

Sanji sat back a little on the edge of the bed, stretching his legs. “They’re eating supper. I was done, so I thought I’d bring you something to eat. I figured you needed it.”

Zoro couldn’t remember clearly. “They went to eat supper?”

“Yeah, about half an hour ago.” Sanji looked at him. “Luffy and Robin showed up and came in here to see you. Remember that?”

Zoro nodded, although he wasn’t sure. He remembered Luffy, sitting on the bed; but that memory slid seamlessly into Luffy standing in front of him with folded arms, telling him he was weak.

 

“You kind of zoned out, while we were talking.” Sanji was still watching him. “So we left you to rest, while I dished up supper. Kawashima kept an eye on you, while we were eating.” He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes; then paused, glancing at the swordsman. “Eh… Will it put you off eating, if I smoke?”

Zoro raised an eyebrow. “Since when did you give a shit about asking my permission to light up?”

Sanji gave a sardonic smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t be making a habit of it. I just thought it might not help, if your guts are still feeling tricky.”

“My guts are fine.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but Zoro was damned if he was going to be treated like a seasick infant. “They’re in better shape than your lungs, curly-brow.”

“Yeah; sure they are, moss-brain.” Sanji took out a cigarette, standing as he did so and moving towards the window. “Here: I’ll open up the window. Never let it be said that I didn’t show consideration to the weak and suffering.”

 

_Weak._

 

Zoro felt the word go through him. His hand clenched on the cup: he stared at the cook, but Sanji had turned his head away as he lit his cigarette. After inhaling and then blowing a stream of smoke out through the open window, the cook let out a sigh. “Fuck, that’s better. I haven’t had a cigarette in the last four hours.” He turned back to face the bed, leaning one shoulder against the window frame. “Been too much to think about.”

Zoro took another mouthful of soup, before replying. “Yeah, well… I can see how inhaling and thinking simultaneously might be beyond you.”

Sanji’s eyes narrowed as he took another pull on his cigarette. “Being sick isn’t improving your repartee, that’s for sure. How’s the soup going?”

 

Zoro knew Sanji wasn’t asking how the misoshiru tasted. If there was one thing the chef wasn’t insecure about, it was his cooking. Raising the cup he drained the last mouthful, before setting it down empty on the table by the bed. “Fine.”

“Want some more?”

Zoro shook his head. His stomach was dealing with the input, but he had absolutely no desire to push his luck. Sanji looked as though he was about to argue the point, then seemed to think better of it. Blowing another stream of smoke out of the corner of his mouth towards the window, he nodded towards the door. “Robin and Luffy are planning to hang out here for a couple more hours. Robin said she’d take a turn at sitting with you.” He gave a quick grin. “Luffy said he could too, but I’m guessing you probably don’t want him bouncing off the walls in here while you’re trying to sleep.”

Sleep was the last thing Zoro wanted. Still less did he like the notion of being watched over while he slept. It had been different on the Going Merry, sleeping in the galley with Sanji. Here it felt claustrophobic.

 

Sanji picked up on his tension. “They’re just trying to help, y’know?”

“I know.” Zoro shifted on the bed, restlessly.

Sanji eyed him for a moment… before stubbing out his cigarette carefully. Letting go of his last mouthful of smoke he moved to the bed, sitting down on its edge again. “You won’t have to put up with us crowding you for much longer. Once this is over, you can spend the next month up in the crow’s nest, if you want. Or in your hammock. But right now, this is how it’s got to be.”

Zoro’s mouth thinned out. “I get it.”

 

Sanji let out a small sigh. Then reached out and laid his hand over the swordsman’s where it rested on the bed. “I better go check on how the others are getting on. You sure you don’t want more soup?”

“Yeah.” Zoro looked at him. “Thanks… It was good.”

Sanji smiled. “Any time.” His fingers tightened ever so slightly, giving the swordsman’s hand a squeeze. “Get the hell better, eh.”

“Working on it.”

Sanji regarded the swordsman’s pale face. Felt the damp heat of the skin beneath his fingers. “Good.” He released his grip and stood up. “Get some more rest. I’ll come and see you again in a while.”

 

 

 

 

Returning to the main room, Sanji found the table cleared. Kawashima sat at his desk, reading through a thick textbook, his brow furrowed. He looked around at Sanji’s footfall. “Ah? Your friends are washing up, in the kitchen.”

Sanji pictured Luffy washing up, and hoped Kawashima didn’t have any valuable crockery. “Great. I’ll go make sure they leave things tidy.” He was about to turn away, when he had an afterthought. Giving a quick glance in the direction of the kitchen, he nodded towards the book at the doctor’s elbow. “Research?”

Kawashima bent his gaze down on the book, before looking back at the cook. “I’m studying relevant passages again, relating to the treatment of neurotoxins.” He took off his glasses, before rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose. “I reviewed them yesterday… But it’s as well to be thorough.”

 

Sanji watched the doctor, hands in his pockets. Kawashima looked old and tired; as he turned a page in the book, his hand was a little unsteady. “Can I ask you something?”

Kawashima looked up at him again. “You may ask. Whether or not I can answer satisfactorily, remains to be seen.”

Sanji had an uneasy sense that the doctor knew what was coming. “This second dose of the anti-venom, tomorrow. Is it going to hit him worse than the first?”

Kawashima slowly closed his textbook. “Undoubtedly.”

 

Sanji had known this was the answer he’d been likely to get, but it still wound a knot deep in his chest. “He’s still slipping in and out of those dreams. Is this what you expected?” He waited for an answer, and when none was forthcoming, asked a further question. “How long is it going to take before things get better instead of worse?”

“That is hard to predict, with any degree of certainty.” Kawashima gazed down at his closed book, his face sober.

“Fine. I’ll take an answer with whatever degree of uncertainty you feel comfortable with.” Sanji could feel his anger spilling out a little. “And before you speak, _‘I don’t know’_   is not an answer that’s going to cut it.”

Kawashima turned and met his angry gaze. “Young man, _‘I don’t know’_   would at least be honest.”

“You must have some idea. Two days? A week?” Sanji felt the knot in his chest drawing tighter. “How long did it take, when you’ve treated other people who’ve been stung by these damn things?”

“I have treated others for different cone shell stings. Some recovered in hours. Some it took several days. All came to me much sooner than your friend.”

“That I know. What about this?”

“I once treated a young fisherman who had been stung by the dream cone. He was brought to me three days after it occurred.” Kawashima bowed his head. “He did not survive.”

 

A chill ran down Sanji’s back. He stared at the doctor’s downturned head. “The fuck… You’ve never cured someone from a dream cone sting?”

Kawashima lifted his head and met the cook’s eyes. “No.”

 

There was a long silence in the room. In the quiet, Sanji could hear the sounds of his nakama in the nearby kitchen: the _clink_ of crockery being stacked; the ebb and flow of their voices. He found his hands had clenched into fists in his pockets. “You didn’t think to mention this earlier?”

Kawashima shook his head. “I made it clear, both to your Mr Chopper, and to your friend, that I considered this an extremely risky course of action. I said that taking such a high dose could prove fatal. I advised your friend not to proceed with it.”

“You _advised_ him?” Sanji could feel the blood rising in his face. “How come you didn’t also _advise_ him that the only other guy you tried this on is dead?”

“Would that have made a difference?” asked Kawashima quietly. “I sensed that your friend was determined to proceed, no matter what warnings he was given to the contrary. That being the case, there was little point in telling him of the previous adverse outcome. A patient does not benefit from the removal of hope.”

“You’re saying that you did this to _help_ Zoro?” Sanji gritted his teeth. “By allowing him to do something without knowing he was taking an even bigger risk than we all thought?”

“I realised immediately, that your friend has great strength and physical endurance. To have been stung by a dream cone as he was, and not to die… It was unheard of. So when he seemed determined to attempt treatment, although I had warned him against it, I felt that there was more chance of success.”

“ _More chance?”_   Sanji found himself taking a step forward: forced himself to halt. “So, what: you’re hoping that because he’s strong, he can come through this?”

“Yes,” said the doctor simply.

 

“Fuck.” Sanji shut his eyes for a moment, his head reeling. When he opened them again, Kawashima was watching him worriedly. “Zoro would do anything to be cured of what’s happening to him. And that idiot risks his life all the time. But this? This is beyond crazy. We thought you knew what you were doing. We trusted you. And now you say there’s just a chance it will work out, because Zoro’s tough?” His clenched fists trembled in his pockets.

“I am sorry. I didn’t intend to deceive your friend, or any of you.” Kawashima shook his head. “I did what I thought was best.”

Sanji’s eyes were hard as he gazed at the older man. “Yeah. So you tell me.” He let a slow breath out between his teeth, trying to rein in the rage that was churning through his body. “And you know what they say? The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”

Kawashima made no answer. Sanji looked away to the side, not wanting to see the doctor’s apologetic face any longer. Speaking with his eyes averted, he said, “Just so we’re clear. Is there anything else you haven’t told us? Any other surprises?”

“No.” Kawashima’s voice was quiet.

“Good. Then I’ll tell you something.” Sanji looked back at the doctor, and the older man flinched slightly under his gaze. “You are going to get Zoro through this. Don’t even think there’s an alternative.” Sanji’s voice was low, but every word was sharp-edged ice. “Understand?”

“I will try my best.”

“Don’t fucking _try_.” Sanji spat the word out. “ _Do it_.”

 

There was a long silence in the room. The two men regarded each other. The sounds of the other Mugiwara in the kitchen reached them; then footsteps, of someone approaching. After a moment, Robin appeared in the doorway. Her smile faded when she took in the sight of the two men standing facing each other. “Is anything wrong?”

Sanji turned away from Kawashima, taking out his cigarettes and shoving one in his mouth. “No. Everything’s great.”

Robin regarded him levelly for a moment, before giving a slow nod. “I’m going to sit with Zoro for a while. The others are about done in the kitchen.”

“Right.” Sanji lit up, beyond caring any more about the etiquette of smoking in Kawashima’s home. “I’d best go check to make sure they don’t leave the place in a mess.” He strode past Robin, not wasting a parting glance on Kawashima who still stood motionless in the centre of the room.


	18. We're Gonna Be Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody is getting much sleep.

_How can I show you if you’re not here_  
 _And I know that we’re gonna be fine_  
 _And the tattooed mistakes are gonna fade over time_  
 _As long as we live, time passes by  
_ _And we won’t get it back when we die_

_\- Bowling For Soup_

 

\---

 

 

Zoro wasn’t actually asleep. He could still feel the pillow beneath his cheek, slightly damp with sweat; could sense the lamplight through his closed eyelids. The sounds of the house drifted in and out of his awareness: the distant muffled rise and fall of conversation, the familiar tones of his nakama heard through walls. He let it all blur, let himself drift in the slightly swaying inert place he was lying within. Waves of warmth rose and broke over him, bringing more sweat out onto his skin: as they passed, the air breathed chill against him.

A sudden soft sound nearby tensed the muscles in his body. His eyes cracked open and he breathed out at the way the light struck at him. A movement to his right tracked his gaze sideways. Robin sat there in the chair by the bed, looking over at him. In her lap lay a book, her hand resting on the page that she’d just turned over: the source of the small sound that had pulled him up out of his half-aware state.

Robin leaned forward a little, resting her arms on her knees. “Zoro. All right?”

Zoro found that he was getting beyond tired with people asking him this. “…Mm. Fine.” His reply didn’t sound as clear as he’d meant it to. His mouth felt parched again, his lips dry.

“Can I get you anything?” Robin’s question was quiet.

Zoro turned his eyes away, searching the immediate vicinity. “There any… water?”

Robin reached to the side, picking up a glass which she held out. “Here.”

 

Zoro propped himself up on one elbow and took it, lifting the glass to his mouth and swallowing a large gulp. The coolness felt good going down his throat; he raised the glass again and took another mouthful, holding it on his tongue a moment. Another swallow, then another; and then the glass in his hand was empty and he set it down on the bed.

Robin took the glass without saying anything, rising and crossing the room to where the small table stood on the other side of the bed. She picked up a jug and refilled the glass, the trickle of the water a small sound in the quiet room. Returning and sitting down once more, she held out the glass again. Zoro shook his head. “S’okay. I don’t need any more.”

“Chopper said that it was important that you drink plenty of water.” She kept the glass extended, her gaze steady.

“Chopper says a bunch of stuff.” Zoro let his arm lower him back down until his head rested back against the pillow. “I’ll drink more when I want it.”

Robin said nothing more, but placed the glass on the windowsill behind her. “As you wish.”

 

Zoro let his gaze rest on his dark-haired crewmate. Out of all his nakama, he felt he knew Robin the least. It wasn’t that he still outright distrusted her; but there was a reserve about her that made him wary. That, and her powerful abilities. It was odd, because in some ways they were weirdly alike. She often used her words sparingly, staying silent amongst the chatter of the rest of the Mugiwara; and in a fight she was more than capable of fending for herself.

Robin turned another page in her book, turning her attention back to her reading. As minders went, she was at least unobtrusive. Zoro felt a little relief, from the constant scrutiny he’d been subjected to for the past days. His nakama meant well, he knew, but being constantly watched had started to rub his nerves raw. Usually when he felt the target of someone’s attention it meant he was shortly about to be engaged in a fight. And on some level, a fight would have been a welcome distraction, with or without his katana.

His fingers clenched: he made himself release and flex them, feeling a little spike of pain dart through his right arm. Although he was tired and his muscles ached, there was also a restlessness singing just under his skin that made it hard to lie still. All evening he’d kept drifting into a shallow doze, barely under the surface; only to rouse each time with a jolt of adrenalin that set his heart thudding. It made him even more reluctant to succumb to sleep. His eyes were heavy, though; so he decided to let them close for a while.

 

Raising her gaze from her book, Robin watched silently as the swordsman’s eyes fell closed. Slowly the tension in his body eased, his breathing shifting into a deeper rhythm. She wasn’t sure how long he would stay asleep for – he seemed to be fighting it, which she could understand – but for now he was definitely under. Letting out a quiet sigh, she watched him for a little longer… before returning to her reading.

 

 

 

 

“Sanji.” Chopper’s voice roused the cook from his thoughts: he’d been planning his cooking for the following couple of days, thinking how best to make use of the ingredients he’d bought. Turning round where he sat at the kitchen counter with a notepad in front of him, Sanji looked at his crewmate. “Mm?”

“It’s getting late. I think Luffy and Robin are going to head back to the Going Merry.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Sanji stood up, rubbing the back of his neck where it had grown stiff from bending over his scribbled notes. “I’ll come see them off.”

“I’ll take the next turn at sitting with Zoro.” Chopper led the way out of the kitchen. “Robin says he’s been asleep most of the time she was there with him.”

“That’s good... Isn’t it?” Sanji, still feeling inwardly shaken by Kawashima’s earlier unwelcome revelation, found himself needing reassurance.

“Yes. It could be he’ll have an easier night than we hoped.” Chopper sounded cautiously optimistic. “Although he’s still running a fever.”

“Not a lot we can do about that.” Sanji ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. You take the next few hours, and I’ll come spell you in the early morning. Unless you want me to come earlier.”

“No, that’s all right. I got a few hours’ sleep this afternoon.” Chopper gave him a brief smile. “And Dr Kawashima will be at hand, if I need help.”

Sanji grunted. He was unable to muster anything like enthusiasm at the sound of Kawashima’s name at the moment. “Whatever. Just make sure you call me too if Zoro gets any worse, okay?”

 

They had reached the main room, where their two nakama were waiting to say goodbye. Robin was standing by the door, her jacket on; Luffy was kneeling on the floor with his nose pressed against the glass side of one of Kawashima’s tanks of marine animals, gazing at the creatures within with fascinated eyes.

“Oi, craphead. Don’t frighten the wildlife,” Sanji instructed.

Luffy turned around and grinned. “They’re really lazy. I’ve been watching that sea slug thing for ages, and it hasn’t moved at all.”

“Not everyone is a hyperactive pain in the ass like you.” Sanji looked at Robin. “You leaving now too, Robin-chwan?”

“It’s almost midnight, so yes.” Robin nodded. “We’ll head back to the ship and let the others know how things are going.”

 

Luffy got to his feet, with a last dismissive glance at the tank. Letting out a loud yawn, he stretched his arms overhead. “Waahhhh… I’m sleepy.”

“The walk back to the ship will wake you up.” Robin smiled.

“Hm.” Luffy nodded in agreement. “Maybe a snack to take along with us would be a good idea?” He regarded Sanji hopefully.

“Dream on, rubber boy.” Sanji gestured with his thumb towards the door. “Get going, and make sure you don’t let any late night troublemakers bother Robin on your way back.”

Luffy made a sulky noise, his lips settling into a pout. “Not fair. It’s not like I can get a snack when we’re back on board, either… Nami’s locked the kitchen, remember?”

Sanji pointed at his own face. “Does it look like I give a shit?”

“Come on, Luffy.” Robin moved towards the door. “We better go and let them settle down here for the night.”

 

 

 

 

After their two nakama had left, the house grew quiet. Kawashima disappeared with a quiet statement that he was going to bed, but to summon him if there was any change in Zoro’s condition. Chopper retired to take his turn on sickbed watch, leaving Sanji to find the best sleeping position he could on Kawashima’s couch.

Sleeping in an unfamiliar place was never easy; and although the household was now dormant, there were still small noises that continued in the darkness after Sanji had turned out the light. The occasional bubbling from the tanks of sea creatures; the settling of the old floorboards; the creak of the couch as he turned over trying to get comfortable. It didn’t help that his mind was still running with thoughts, none of them particularly sunny ones.

 

_\- I didn’t intend to deceive your friend, or any of you. I did what I thought was best._

 

Sanji twitched his head on the cushion he was using as a pillow, fighting the anger that still coiled in his chest. He hadn’t said anything to Chopper about Kawashima’s admission. Lying there now in the dark, he wasn’t sure if he’d done the right thing by keeping quiet… But he also couldn’t see how it would help if Chopper knew just how out of their depth they really were with this. There was nothing the little doctor could do, that he wasn’t already doing.

 

The couch wasn’t quite long enough to accommodate his legs, making him lie slightly curled in on himself. He suspected that the position wasn’t going to be the greatest for his back, which never failed to give him hell when he slept awkwardly. Not that sleep seemed to be forthcoming any time soon, anyway.

_Better get some sleep, though. Because there’s a way to go yet before we’re through this._

He clenched and unclenched his fists; shrugged his shoulders up tight, then released them, trying to ease the tension wound up in his body. It occurred to him that it was the first time he’d slept alone in over a week. He wondered how Zoro was doing with that: hoped against the odds that the swordsman would be spared the traumatic dreams that woke him in the small hours. That Zoro was still having waking dreams was clear. More than once since they’d been there at Kawashima’s house Sanji had recognised the disorientated, unfocussed look the swordsman got when hallucination took over from reality. If anything, the hallucinations seemed to be increasing. Which didn’t exactly suggest that the anti-venom was starting to have a positive effect.

 

_That’s the problem with thinking in the middle of the night. Everything looks dark._

 

Sanji let out a long breath. He wanted a cigarette; he wanted to get up and walk around; and he wanted his brain to switch off. None of which was happening. Summoning all his resolve and pulling his blanket higher up over his shoulders, he doggedly set his sights on the goal of sleep.

 

 

 

 

Someone gripped his shoulder. Sanji was deep in a tiresome dream where he was struggling to deal with a pot that was boiling over on a stove, the flame underneath it refusing to go out; but at the touch he came wide awake and sat bolt upright, letting out a wordless sound of protest.

“Sanji… It’s only me.” Chopper’s voice, at his side. Sanji blinked, finding the light on in the room; turned to look at his nakama bleary-eyed.

“Mhh… Time ‘sit?”

“A little after three in the morning.” Chopper looked less than wide awake himself, rubbing his face tiredly. “I was going to let you sleep a little more, but I can’t keep my eyes open.”

“S’all right… You take a break.” Sanji let out a yawn, before swinging his legs off the couch. Standing up, his back gave him a sharp twinge. “Ow… Motherfucking couch.” He tossed the blanket to one side, before reaching for his shoes. “Zoro doing okay?”

“He’s been sleeping, most of the time.” Chopper plumped heavily down onto the couch. “I tried to get him to drink some water when he roused a little, but he wasn’t really awake enough.”

 

Sanji yawned again, shrugging on his jacket. “Uh huh. Well, I’ve got it covered till morning.”

“If you need me…” Chopper was already curling on his side, his eyes closing.

“I’ll call you.” Sanji picked up the blanket and draped it over his small crewmate. “Night, Chopper.”

“Mm nmm.” The reindeer’s drowsy reply faded into a small snore.

 

Soft-footed, Sanji made his way to the guest room. Chopper had left a small lamp lit on the table by the bed. It shed a warm glow over the sleeping figure of the swordsman, who lay on his side facing the window, the covers rumpled as though he’d been moving restlessly in his sleep. One bare foot protruded: Sanji bent down and gently drew the blanket over it. Then he moved to the chair beside the bed and sat down, wincing slightly at the protest from his back. His gaze fell on Zoro’s face. The swordsman was evidently deeply asleep, but even so a slight frown drew his brows together. A sheen of sweat glistened on his skin in the lamp’s golden light.

Sanji leaned forward, resting his arms across his knees. Tried not to think how many hours there were until morning. And how long after that, until noon.

 

 

 

It wasn’t quite dawn but the window had changed from black to grey. Sanji was standing at it smoking a cigarette, when a sound from behind him made him look around.

Zoro’s hands twitched on the bed, clenching into fists. As Sanji watched, the swordsman’s eyelids moved too, his closed eyes obviously rapidly following some dream scenario. The rhythm of his breathing faltered: an indistinct sound of protest escaped his parted lips.

_Uh oh._

Sanji extinguished his cigarette and stepped from the window, moving to sit in the chair beside the bed. He extended a hand towards one of Zoro’s; then hesitated, unsure whether or not to touch him.

A low groan pulled out of Zoro’s throat. The frown between his brows deepened and his whole body flinched. Sanji found his own hands clenching tight in sympathy, willing the swordsman to wake of his own accord from what was obviously another nightmare. For long moments his wish seemed unanswered, as Zoro’s fists jerked against the bed but his eyes stayed closed. Then with a sharp exhale the swordsman went from prone to clawing himself upright so violently that he almost overbalanced and fell sideways off the bed.

“Hey, easy - ” Sanji fielded him, leaning forwards and catching hold of his shoulder. Zoro flinched at the contact, his eyes coming wide open but unfocussed at first in the room’s low lamplight. One hand flew up and closed around the cook’s wrist, its grip bruisingly tight. Sanji kept his hand on the swordsman’s shoulder, making his voice deliberately quiet and calm. “You’re awake. It’s all right.”

Zoro’s eyes fastened on him. Sanji saw the swordsman’s gaze come back from somewhere distant and dark. There was a long pause in which Zoro took two deep unsteady breaths… Before he released the cook’s wrist, sitting slowly back until his shoulders met the wall at the head of the bed with a soft _thump_. His eyes shut again, briefly; when they opened, he looked at Sanji. “…Sorry.”

Sanji flexed his wrist with a slight smile. “I’ll live.” He kept his tone light. “My fault. I startled you.”

Zoro gave a small shake of his head. “That wasn’t… I just…” He gave up, his mouth settling into a straight line.

“Don’t worry about it. You were dreaming. That’s all.” Sanji saw the tremors that were still making the swordsman’s hands shake, ever so slightly. “Feel like sharing?”

“Nah...” Zoro gave a quick dismissive movement of his head, frowning.

“Okay then.” Sanji leaned back in his chair, casually swinging his feet up to rest them on the bed. “So what shall we talk about?”

 

Zoro turned his gaze onto him. “What… How the hell should I know, idiot cook?”

“Well, it’s five a.m., or thereabouts. I’m not expecting scintillating conversation; but it’s a ways to go yet before breakfast and if I have to stay awake to watch you, the least you could do is keep me entertained.” He watched irritation and befuddlement chase each other across the swordsman’s weary face, and took some pity on him. “Or I’ll settle for distracted. Maybe entertained is aiming too high, given your current state.”

“Mhh…” Zoro’s brows pulled together. “You sure I’m awake? Or am I just having another bad dream, with you in it?”

“Want me to prove you’re awake? Okay.” Sanji reached out and smartly pinched the skin on Zoro’s wrist.

“Ow!” Zoro glared at him, pulling his arm sharply away. “Fuck you, shitty cook!”

“Patient is responsive to pain,” intoned Sanji solemnly. “And stringing almost coherent sentences together.”

“You want response to pain? I’ll give you some to respond to,” retorted Zoro, clenching his fist.

“Ehi, take it easy.” Sanji gave him a smirk. “You’re an invalid, remember?”

“When I get out of this bed, I’ll knock your skinny ass into one!”

“Promises, promises.” At the swordsman’s motion to sit forward, Sanji held up a restraining hand. “Oi, all right. Don’t do anything stupid. You get out of this bed and I’ll be picking you up off the floor two seconds later.”

 

Zoro subsided, but his gaze still fastened irritably on the cook. “Asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sanji eyed him. “My bad. Just stay put, okay? You’re not in any kind of shape for one of our sparring matches right now.”

“Baka...” Zoro let his head rest back against the wall. “Better make the most of it. When I’m back to normal in a day or two, you’re gonna pay for all this shit you’re putting me through.”

 

A hot sensation ran through Sanji’s chest. Outwardly he kept a deadpan face. “I’ll look forward to it. Now chill the fuck out.”

“Hah…” Zoro turned his head slightly, looking towards the window. “S’getting light.”

“Mm-hm.” Sanji nodded.

“Was Chopper in here just now?”

“A while ago.” Sanji rolled his shoulders, easing out some of the stiffness that had set in. “I traded with him so he could get some sleep.”

Zoro blinked slowly, his brows pulling together in a slight frown. “A while ago?”

 

Sanji looked at him. “Well, yeah. A few hours ago, to be exact.”

“I thought…” Zoro stopped. After a moment he gave his head a slight shake. “Shit… My head feels like it’s been used for cannon practice.”

“As a target, or as a cannonball?”

“Both.” Zoro brought up one hand and rubbed at one temple with a grimace.

“Well, you’re probably still dehydrated. That won’t help.” Sanji picked up the glass of water that stood nearby and offered it to the swordsman. “Here.”

Zoro regarded the glass unenthusiastically. “Every time I open my eyes, someone is trying to pour water down my throat. I’m awash with the stuff.”

“You need it, dumbass. All that puking you did on top the fever you’re running, you need to keep your fluid intake topped up.” Sanji kept his hand with the glass extended. “So: down the hatch.”

 

Zoro scowled, but took the water from him: drained the glass in a few big swallows, then handed it back empty. Sanji gave him a sweetly encouraging smile. “There’s my brave soldier.”

“Fuck you, curly brow.”

“Tetchy.” The cook wagged an admonishing finger at him. “Anyway… I’m the one who’s really suffering here. You get a nice comfy bed to lie in. Sleeping on that ramshackle fucking couch of Kawashima’s is going to give me permanent spine damage.”

“Tough shit.” Zoro gave a brief grin, but it fell away quickly. “Any time you want to trade, let me know.”

 

Sanji set the empty glass down on the nearby table, before going to stand by the window and looking out. The light was steadily growing: he could see the plants in the garden now, colours starting to fade in from the grey of dawn. “Looks like it’s going to be another fine day.” He looked back to the bed. “Anything in particular you’d like for breakfast?”

Zoro was massaging the side of his head with his fingertips again. He raised one eyebrow. “Seeing as how I’m probably gonna be seeing it again a few hours down the line… Not really.”

Sanji pulled a face. “Thank you for that image.” He waited a moment or two, before persevering. “Look, I know what you mean. But even so, you’ve got to eat something. Keep your strength up. You’re gonna need it.”

Zoro let his hand fall heavily into his lap. His eyes rested on Sanji. “Did you talk to Kawashima?”

 

Sanji’s skin prickled. “Why’d you ask?”

“I just wondered… If the old guy had said anything. About how he thinks it’s going.” Zoro’s gaze was steady.

Sanji took out his cigarettes, making his shrug as casual as he knew how. “Not really. About what he expected, I think.”

Zoro looked at him for a few seconds longer. Sanji felt uneasiness in the pit of his stomach: to calm it, he lit up and pulled in a mouthful of smoke. “Anyway, all I meant was, taking that second dose today won’t be pleasant. But you’ll ride it out better if you eat, and keep drinking plenty of water. That’s what Chopper said. So for once in your life, do as you’re told.”

The corner of Zoro’s mouth lifted up. “Okay, cook.”

Sanji was temporarily startled into silence. At his frown, Zoro’s smile widened. “Heh. If I’d known agreeing with you shut you up, I’d have tried it sooner.”

“Hmm.” Sanji exhaled a long stream of smoke. “Feel free to make a habit of it.”

 

For a while they were both quiet, as the daylight continued to strengthen outside. Sanji could hear birds tuning up in the garden; a soft rustle as a morning breeze began to stir the leaves of the plants. Somewhere he could hear faint bell-like tones that came and went at irregular intervals. It took him a few moments to place the sound, before he recognised it as a wind chime.

 

A footstep made both men look across to the doorway. Kawashima was standing there, regarding his patient keenly. His eyes flickered briefly across to Sanji, before returning to Zoro. “Good morning.” He stepped into the room, coming to the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling, Mr Roronoa?”

Zoro grunted. “Not too bad... Head hurts like hell, though.”

“Ah? Yes.” Kawashima reached out and took hold of his wrist, checking his pulse. “That’s to be expected. After all, your head is mostly where the cure must be efficacious.” He released Zoro’s wrist. “And you are still feverish. You must drink plenty of water.”

“Yeah. So people keep telling me.”

 

Kawashima nodded. “We will proceed with the final dose of the anti-venom today. Are you still experiencing hallucinations or nightmares?” Zoro gave a short nod. “And the pain in your arm: is it still severe?”

“Not as bad as it was.” Zoro flexed his right arm to demonstrate, opening and closing his hand: a grimace crossed his face as he did so, undermining the credence of his words.

“Indeed.” Kawashima nodded again, before looking at Sanji. “I will sit with him for a while.”

Sanji regarded the doctor narrowly. “Okay.” He still felt an undercurrent of anger when he looked at the old man, but there was nothing useful he could do about that. “I’ll go get started on breakfast.”

 

 

When Sanji reached the kitchen it was to find Chopper in there. The little reindeer was perched on a stool at a counter, industriously grinding up something with a pestle and mortar. Sanji began rolling up his shirtsleeves. “Oi, you’re up early. Did you get some sleep?”

“Yes, a bit.” Chopper shrugged, not pausing in his work.

Sanji eyed his crewmate: Chopper’s tired look belied his answer. “What are you making?”

“A remedy to help Zoro, with the nausea.” Chopper paused to add a pinch of something to the mortar, before resuming his methodical blending. “I think if I give it to him now, before he takes the second dose of the anti-venom, it will lessen the sickness.”

“That’d be good.” Sanji meant it. “Kawashima’s sitting in there with him, now.” He crossed the kitchen and began pulling out food from the refrigerator and cupboards, running through in his mind possibilities for something that would sit reasonably well in a queasy swordsman’s stomach. Maybe a fruit smoothie, with a little fresh mint and ginger added? And for the rest of them, something just to keep their energy up, because the next day or two was looking like it was going to be a taxing time for all concerned. “You got any breakfast requests?”

 

Chopper paused in his grinding, considering. “Umm… Could we have pancakes?”

Sanji smiled, knowing his crewmate’s sweet tooth. “How does crêpes with caramelized bananas sound?”

Chopper’s eyes lit up. “Really good.”

Sanji gestured airily with one hand. “Crêpe au banane caramélisée coming right up.”

 

 

After breakfast Chopper took Zoro his prepared anti-sickness remedy. Kawashima appeared in the main room and looked faintly astonished when Sanji set a plateful of sizzling crêpe on the table in front of him. “This is most kind. Thank you.”

Sanji poured himself a cup of strong coffee. “You’re welcome. Hope you like pancakes, it was Chopper’s request.” He gestured with the coffeepot at the doctor: Kawashima refused it with a politely raised hand. Taking a sip of his own brew, Sanji leaned back against the doorframe watching the older man eat. There was a fine-boned thinness to the doctor that suggested to Sanji’s all-too-experienced eye that the old man probably didn’t get to tuck into a decent meal that often. Despite his residual anger at the doctor, Sanji found himself also feeling something like empathy for him. Setting down his coffee cup he returned to the kitchen, taking out from the refrigerator the smoothie he’d prepared earlier. _Better go take the marimo his breakfast, too._

 

 

Zoro was less appreciative of Sanji’s efforts than Chopper and Kawashima had been. “What the hell is that?” he asked, looking suspiciously at the glassful of green juice that the cook was holding out to him. “It looks like something you scraped off the top of a pond.”

“Then it should be right up your street. Algae for a seaweed-head.” Sanji held the glass patiently. “It’s a smoothie, moron.”

“What’s in it? Or am I better off not knowing?”

Sanji let out a long-suffering sigh. Assuming a lecturing stance, he reeled off the list of ingredients. “Banana, peach, grapes, kiwi, apple juice, spinach, fresh ginger, a little mint…” He shoved the glass at the swordsman. “Just drink it, will you?”

Zoro took the glass unenthusiastically, before trying a small sip. His expression changed as he evidently discovered that the smoothie tasted better than first appearances might suggest. Sanji observed this with a small smug smile of satisfaction, before moving to the window and getting out his cigarettes. “You’re welcome.”

Zoro looked up. “Thanks.” He took another mouthful. “It’s not as bad as it looks, cook.”

 

Sanji paused with his lighter in his hand, narrowing his eyes, before giving a shake of his head. “Just, ‘Thanks’ will do fine. I don’t need a critique of my cuisine.”

Zoro smiled at him. “Don’t get into a snit. It tastes good. Your stuff always does.”

Slightly mollified, Sanji lit up. “Better.”

 

Zoro swallowed some more of the fruity drink. “Chopper was raving about whatever the hell it was you made him for breakfast... Pancakes or some shit like that.”

“Crêpes.”

“Whatever.” Zoro finished the glassful of smoothie, tilting it up to get the last mouthful. “He was pretty happy about it.”

“Good.” Sanji tapped ash lightly out over the windowsill. “He give you that anti-sickness remedy he’d been working on?”

“Yeah.” Zoro’s face took on a speculative look. “Hope it works.”

“Mm.” Sanji couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

 

 

After a brief silence, Zoro drew up one knee under the blanket, resting an arm across it as he leaned back against the wall. “You know what I plan on doing… When all this is over?”

Sanji raised an eyebrow. “Apart from sleeping?”

“Well, yeah: apart from that.” Zoro gave a quick grin. “For sure, I’m gonna get in some serious shut-eye. And woe betide any of you fuckers who wake me up before I’m done with that.”

“I’ll make sure that information gets relayed,” remarked Sanji dryly.

“I’m going to run through my kata, beginning to end.” Sanji rolled his eyes: he was unsurprised that resuming practice with his katana was the swordsman’s priority. “Then I’m going to sleep some more.”

“Well, that at least sounds like a good idea,” Sanji acknowledged.

Zoro’s eyes rested on him. “And then you and me are going to wreck the bed.”

Sanji let out a lungful of smoke slightly faster than he’d intended. “Ex _cuse_ me?”

 

Zoro gave him one of his lazy shark grins. “You heard me, cook.”

Sanji took a hard pull on his cigarette, before answering. “First off: there is no bed. There’s a hammock, or there’s the floor.”

“There’s the kitchen table,” Zoro suggested, grinning wider.

“ _Secondly_.” Sanji spoke with determination. “You’re going to be convalescing. So maybe you might want to think about taking things less… strenuously, for a few days.”

“Bullshit.” Zoro gave him a level stare. “What’s the matter, ero-cook? Not up to the challenge?”

Sanji met his gaze. “Oh, this is a challenge? You should have said before.” He clenched his teeth around his cigarette, before grinning back at the swordsman. “Bring it on, mosshead.”

 

Zoro let out a low chuckle. Sanji gave a slight shake of his head, though still grinning. “You’re beyond help, you know that? Most people in your situation wouldn’t be thinking about… that. Like, right now.”

Zoro shrugged slightly. “Beats thinking about what is happening, right now. Besides…” His face lost its grin, although his eyes stayed on the cook. “This situation is making me appreciate what I have… right now.”

 

Sanji stayed absolutely still for a moment. Then he took his cigarette from his mouth; carefully stubbed it out, before stepping away from the window and sitting down in the chair next to the bed. He held Zoro’s gaze. “You’re being suspiciously honest.”

“Yeah, well.” Zoro kept his eyes on the cook. “Given the circumstances, there doesn’t seem a whole lot of point in being otherwise.” His smile reappeared fleetingly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. You’re irritating as hell and there isn’t a day that I don’t wish I could kick your ass overboard…”

“Likewise,” Sanji replied dryly.

“…But you’re there, cook. You’re always there.” Zoro’s eyes rested on him. “When I woke up this morning. You were there.”

Sanji looked down for a moment. “Eh, well. I’ve got nowhere else I particularly need to be, right now.” Then he felt a pang of irritation for his own flippancy at what Zoro had said. He made himself look back up, into the other man’s eyes. “Sorry. Ignore that.” He took a deep breath. “I told you, I’d do this with you. And afterwards…” He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and laid his hand over Zoro’s. “I like the sound of your idea. Let’s do it. Fuck it, let’s find a room with an actual bed, somewhere in Muna. They must have some halfway decent places here. Somewhere with nice thick soundproof walls, preferably.”

Zoro’s smile came back. “You know how to motivate someone to get well, ero-cook.”

“Good.” Sanji circled his thumb on the swordsman’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having 'flu has its advantages. Not being at work, I can write fanfic and post another chapter of this sooner than I'd otherwise have done. Clouds with silver linings, etc...
> 
> I'm finding myself slightly envious of Zoro having Sanji looking after him. I wish I had a drop-dead gorgeous ero-cook to wait on me while I'm suffering. *Pouts* And this chapter has turned out kind of fluffy, but everyone needs some comfort when they're feeling crap. Make the most of it, more angst may be on its way. Enjoy, gentle readers...


	19. You're Gonna Be So Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoro is given the second dose of the anti-venom.

_Today you're gonna be so sick so sick_   
_You'll prop your forehead on the sink_   
_Say oh christ oh jesus christ_   
_My head's gonna crack like a bank_

_\- X_

\---

 

After delivering breakfast to Zoro, Sanji decided it was better to leave the swordsman to rest for a while. Despite what he’d said to Kawashima, and even after both Chopper’s remedy and Sanji’s smoothie, the swordsman looked as if he would be better horizontal than sitting up talking. While Sanji was still sitting with him, he saw a shiver run through Zoro’s frame: that precipitated his own decision to leave. He stood up, collecting the empty smoothie glass as he did so. “Okay. You need to get some rest, and I need to wash up and start prepping lunch. Need an extra blanket?”

Zoro looked up at him. “No.”

“Then lie down under that one. You’re sweating like you just ran a marathon.”

Zoro folded his arms across his knees stubbornly. “I’m fine sitting up.”

“Mm, yeah. You really look it.” Sanji gave an impatient shake of his head. “Well, you needn’t think I’m tucking you in.” He moved to the door. “Chopper or Kawashima will come and sit with you, I guess. I’ll see you in a while.”

 

 

Once he was back in the kitchen, Sanji tried to lose himself in the chores of clearing away, washing up the breakfast dishes and wiping down surfaces. He found himself taking more time over these tasks than they actually needed. Even so, once they were done he found himself standing in the small kitchen staring at the foodstuffs he would be using for lunch, without actually seeing them.

_Okay. Time for a smoke break._

 

Sanji made his way out to the garden, walking all the way down to the bench at the far end where he and Zoro had sat together the day before. It was a breezier day today, with more cloud: as he sat there he began to wish he’d brought his jacket out with him. He resisted the urge to go and fetch it, instead sitting smoking in his shirtsleeves feeling the cool spring air against his skin.

A footstep sounded on the path. He looked around, to see Chopper walking slowly towards him. “Everything okay?”

“Yes.” Chopper sat on the bench beside him. “Dr Kawashima’s watching over Zoro. I thought I’d come out and get a little fresh air.”

“There’s certainly plenty of it out here today.” Sanji blew out a stream of smoke and watched the wind carry it away. “Did you manage to get that crap swordsman to lie down and rest?”

“Eventually.” Chopper let out a small sigh. “I can’t get him to listen to me, when I tell him what he needs to do.”

“It’s a big, unhappy club, Chopper.” Sanji snorted. “If you ever find out just how you can get that damn idiot to listen, short of physically reinforcing it, clue me in. I’ll be forever in your debt.”

 

Chopper nodded. After a little pause, he said, “I’ve been thinking about when we talked, yesterday.”

Sanji’s stomach gave him an uneasy kick of guilt. “I was an asshole, Chopper. I shouldn’t have said what I said to you: I’m sorry.”

“No.” Chopper shook his head. “You were right. Whatever concerns I might have, I need to manage them on my own. It’s not helpful to spread them around. One thing a good doctor should always do, is try to inspire confidence.”

This was so similar to Kawashima’s statement that a patient needed hope, that Sanji blinked. “I guess so. But shouldn’t a good doctor also be honest with their patients?”

“Yes.” Chopper gazed at the garden in front of him thoughtfully. “A good doctor should share all the information relevant to a patient’s condition. Only that way can patients make the right choices for themselves.”

 

Sanji frowned down at the path. He was within an inch of telling Chopper what Kawashima had revealed to him the day before – when a voice reached them, calling down the garden. “Oi, Sanji! Chopper!” Both looked around, to see Nami and Usopp approaching down the garden path. “There you are…” Nami came to a halt beside the bench, Usopp a couple of steps behind her.

“Nami-swan.” Sanji stood up, smiling at her. “Seeing you has just brightened my morning.” To Usopp, he gave a nod. “Hey. I wasn’t sure if you guys were coming now, or later in the day.”

“How’s it going?” Usopp stood with his arms folded. “Robin said last night that Zoro was feeling pretty rough.”

“That about covers it.” Sanji nodded at Chopper. “But he’s the expert.”

 

Chopper looked at Usopp and Nami, who watched him expectantly. “It’s going about how we expected it would. Zoro’s holding his own, but today we’re giving him a second dose of the anti-venom, so he’ll be feeling a lot worse before he feels better.”

“That doesn’t sound so good.” Nami sat down on the bench between the little reindeer and Sanji. “And you two look kind of ragged round the edges, as well. Now we’re here, you can both take a break for a while.”

“I need to prepare more medicine, to help Zoro with the pain from the anti-venom,” said Chopper pensively. “And Dr Kawashima will probably need me to assist him with - ”

“Look, Chopper.” Nami put her face close in front of his, her expression set into its familiar no-nonsense look. “That wasn’t a suggestion I was making. That was an instruction. Take a break. It sounds like you’re going to be plenty busy later on helping out; but right now, me and Usopp can handle things.”

After a moment, Chopper gave a small nod. Nami smiled grimly, before turning her gaze the other way, onto the cook. “You too, Sanji.”

“I’ve got lunch to prepare.” Sanji shrugged. “Don’t worry, Nami-swan. For me, that’s relaxing. It’ll take my mind off… things.”

Nami eyed him a moment longer… Before standing up. “All right. C’mon, Usopp. Let’s go start ministering to the sick and needy.”

 

 

 

Lunch was a simple meal, anyway. Mindful of the fact that there was going to be enough going on that getting everyone together for a sit-down meal would be unlikely, Sanji prepared a selection of cold cuts, bread and salads which he laid out on the kitchen counter together with a covered jug of fruit juice. That done, he wandered through to the main room. On the couch, Chopper was curled up on his side, his head on a cushion: his eyes however were open, gazing into the distance, his brow furrowed in thought. At Sanji’s footstep he looked sideways, then pushed himself up to sitting. Sanji pulled out a chair from the table and sat down himself, pulling out his cigarettes. “Thought you were meant to be taking a break.”

“I was. I just couldn’t stop thinking.” Chopper rubbed his eyes.

“There’s food in the kitchen, ready to eat.” Sanji spoke around the cigarette in his mouth, sparking up his lighter. “Help yourself whenever you want.”

“I will. A bit later.” The little reindeer looked over at the window. “What time is it?”

Sanji knew exactly, having just checked it on his watch a couple of minutes ago. “Coming up to half twelve.”

“I better tell Dr Kawashima.” Chopper got to his feet and padded out of the room.

 

Sanji waited, smoking silently, until the little reindeer reappeared with Kawashima just behind him. The older doctor was carrying a syringe in a shallow metal dish: he crossed to the desk, taking down the little brown glass bottle. Carefully he half-filled the syringe with the remaining dose of the anti-venom. Sanji stubbed out his cigarette; as both doctors headed back down the passage, he followed behind.

 

When they reached the little bedroom Zoro was sitting up in the bed, grinning at something Usopp was relating. The sharpshooter was gesturing expansively with both hands, deep in the midst of some extravagant tale; Nami, leaning on the windowsill, was looking back at the two men with a smile. When the doctors entered the room, the attention of the three shifted to the doorway. Sanji saw Zoro’s eyes travel over them, then down to the syringe lying in the dish in Kawashima’s hand. The swordsman’s brows drew down as his grin faded. As Kawashima came to a halt beside the bed, Zoro looked at him. “Oi… Already?”

Kawashima nodded. “It is time for the second dose.”

Nami straightened up at the window, before giving Usopp a light flick on the back of the head. “Okay. Let’s go stretch our legs in the garden. I don’t suppose Zoro wants an audience.” She gave the swordsman an encouraging smile as she went, shepherding Usopp before her. As she passed Sanji in the doorway, she exchanged a look with him. “We’ll just be outside, Sanji-kun.”

 

Kawashima moved around to the other side of the bed, sitting down in the chair. He picked up the syringe from the dish, gave it a smart tap with one finger and depressed the plunger until a drop of clear liquid clung to its tip.

Sanji took a step into the room, looking down at Zoro. The swordsman’s head turned: as he looked up at the cook, Sanji gave a slight nod towards Kawashima. “I’ll go if you’d prefer me not to be here. But if not, I’ll stick around.”

Zoro’s eyes rested on him for a moment . “Stay if you want.” He turned his gaze onto Kawashima, before extending his right arm towards the old doctor, resting it against the bed. “Any time you’re ready.”

 

Sanji made himself remain watching as the needle depressed then pierced the skin. Where the previous injection had been given, the crook of Zoro’s arm was reddened and angry-looking. The cook couldn’t help wincing slightly in sympathy with the swordsman as the anti-venom went home. It was done as quickly as the first dose had been: Kawashima withdrew the needle and laid the syringe to one side, pressing a clean square of linen against Zoro’s arm as before. His gaze lifted to the swordsman’s face, watching him steadily.

 

Zoro felt the drug scorch its way into his vein, climbing rapidly up his arm: couldn’t stop the sharp breath pull in between his clenched teeth. Clenching his fist he bent his head forward, shutting his eyes.

_Ride it out. Ride it out. This is the last time you have to do this. You can take it._

He breathed into it, feeling cold sweat flooding his skin. His arm shook, muscles locking solid. He heard himself start to make a sound and locked his throat tight too.

 

A hand touched his left shoulder. “Breathe.” The cook’s voice, close by his ear. “Breathe, damn it.”

Zoro let air in, but when he released it this time the sound came. He bit down on it hard, setting his teeth together until his jaw ached.

 

“Fucking marimo.” The bed shifted slightly and then there was a body beside his, an arm going around his shoulders. Zoro felt himself tugged slightly sideways, until his sweating forehead was pressed against the cook’s. “Let it out if you need to. No-one gives a fuck, okay? Scream the damn house down, if that helps.”

Zoro caught a breath in; shuddered it out. The fire was tunnelling through his shoulder now, making its inexorable way inwards, spreading within him. The press of the cook’s forehead against his own was solid, was real: but even that was on the edges of what he could hold onto.

“I’ll breathe with you. Do it with me.” Sanji’s voice sounded angry; the cook’s grip on his shoulder unbreakable. “Are you listening to me, shitty marimo? Just breathe. You can do this.”

 

Zoro tried to hold onto the words. Tried to focus on what the cook was saying.

_Just_

_breathe_

 

Sanji felt Zoro go limp against him, the swordsman’s head dropping forward to rest against his shoulder. His eyes widened; he shifted position quickly, supporting Zoro’s weight until he could see the swordsman’s face. Zoro’s eyes were shut, his face almost white.

“Shit!” Sanji stared at the unconscious man, before looking up at Kawashima. The doctor was leaning forward over the bed: shaking his head, he spoke urgently. “It’s shock. Lay him flat, quickly.”

Sanji lowered Zoro’s shoulders flat to the bed, settling the swordsman’s head back as gently as he could. Zoro’s skin was cold and wet to the touch, and he made no response to Sanji’s handling. Sanji sat back, one hand still resting on Zoro’s shoulder. He couldn’t let go. “Shock?”

Kawashima nodded, bending over the unconscious man and carefully checking his pulse at the neck. “Cover him with the blanket.” Sanji did so. At the foot of the bed, Chopper was lifting Zoro’s feet, wedging another rolled up blanket beneath them to elevate his legs. Kawashima kept his fingertips on the neck pulse, watching Zoro’s face carefully; after a minute or two, he gave a small nod. “Good.”

Sanji looked down at Zoro’s face. He couldn’t see cause for the doctor’s optimism: the swordsman was still horribly pale, with sweat standing out on his skin. But after a minute or so more, he saw Zoro’s eyelids crease, then slowly open.

 

_Just_

_breathe_

Zoro felt the world return, a piece at a time. He was lying on his back, gazing up at something: something grey, too dark to be the sky unless it was evening. He couldn’t move or at least he wasn’t able to right now. There was pain somewhere, unfocussed but getting clearer, then sharpening in to his right arm and shoulder and chest.

_Dreaming_

_this?_

 

He unsteadily lifted his left hand, reaching over to the source of the pain, trying to find the blade, the red-hot shard of metal. Tried close his fingers around it and pull it out. But his fingertips touched only skin, flesh. He tried again, scraping his fingers hard against his arm, searching for the phantom that was burning its way into him.

Suddenly another hand closed around his own. A strong grip curled around, lifting it away; holding him still. “Oi… don’t.” Zoro resisted the pressure and the grip on his hand tightened. “I said, don’t do that.” A face moved into view against the greyness: Sanji, looking down at him with a frown. And it was the cook’s hand gripping his own, holding it immobile. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Zoro stared up at him, his hand closing into a fist in the cook’s grasp. He could pull free; he wanted to. But when he started the movement, Sanji’s fingers tightened, holding on. “No. Just lie still, okay?”

The fire twisted in deeper. Zoro sucked in a breath, his back arching. When he opened his eyes again, he pushed some words at the cook. “Take – it _out_ -”

Sanji’s frown deepened. “What?”

“Get it – out of - ” Zoro tried again to force his hand free, to reach to where he needed and do it himself, but again he couldn’t evade Sanji’s grip. “Fuck! Let - _go_ , shit cook - ”

“Zoro.” Sanji spoke calmingly, bending closer. “It’s okay. There’s nothing there. It’s the anti-venom. Remember? That’s what you can feel. I know it’s bad, I know you’re hurting, but it’ll pass. Just hold on.”

 

_It’s_

_bad_

Zoro stared up at the blue gaze. The cook’s voice was shivering apart, dissolving into echoes, waves on the sea. And the waves rose, rocking him, chilly water lapping at his body.

 

_Will the sea put the fire out?_

Zoro felt his hand float down onto his body and lie there, a stone sinking to the ocean floor. He was underwater but still breathing, the fire within him turning water into air. It was dark there and the immense weight of the deep ocean pressed down upon him.

_Nami always said you never see sharks coming._

 

He had almost stopped moving and teeth were tearing into him, needle sharp. Salt sting, burning him open.

_More sharks will come. They’ll smell the blood._

He had to swim up to the surface. Get out of the water. But he was no longer sure which way that was. The sea swirled around him, cold and dense and dark. The only warmth was the burning pouring out from the wound in his chest, his arm, blood warm in the water, curling round him, wrapping around like smoke.

_Maybe if I go deep enough they won’t follow._

 

He let go; let himself sink. Down to where there was only blank, chill darkness.

 

 

The bedroom was unnaturally quiet. Sanji sat motionless on the bed, gazing down at Zoro. The swordsman lay with closed eyes, breathing shallowly. The hand beneath his had stilled. Sanji’s eyes tracked up to Kawashima and Chopper: both doctors were regarding Zoro closely. “That…” Sanji’s mouth was dry. He swallowed, before speaking again. “That was… extreme.”

Kawashima took Zoro’s pulse again. Quietly he said, “He already has a large amount of the toxin in his system. We have just doubled it. It’s little wonder your friend is suffering this reaction.”

Sanji stared at Zoro. He didn’t think he’d ever seen the swordsman this pale: Zoro had lost so much colour his skin was almost grey. “Reaction? That’s a fucking understatement.”

Chopper came to stand next to him. “Sanji… It’ll take time for Zoro’s body to metabolise the full dose of the anti-venom. And for the antibodies to build up enough to start having a beneficial effect.”

“How much time?” Zoro’s hand felt chill beneath Sanji’s: damp with sweat.

Chopper shrugged helplessly. “At least a few hours. Probably longer. Maybe a day, or even two.” At Sanji’s look, Chopper took a deep breath. “Truthfully, Sanji: it’s impossible to know. We have to be patient.”

“We can be patient all we like. But he’s the one who has to bear it.” Sanji frowned.

“I will stay here with your friend for the next few hours, to make sure that this reaction does not worsen.” Kawashima met Sanji’s gaze. “But your friend Mr Chopper is correct. It’s a matter of waiting and watching, for now.”

“Right.” Sanji bent his gaze down onto Zoro’s still face. The swordsman’s hand lay unresponsive beneath his own, even when he tightened his fingers around it. It made no sense: whatever Kawashima and Chopper said about the cumulative effects of the drug, about Zoro needing time to deal with it. A couple of hours ago he and the swordsman had been talking, planning what they were going to do after this was all over and done with. Minutes ago Zoro had been sitting up laughing with Usopp. It made no sense, for someone as strong as Zoro to be suddenly lying unmoving, pale as rice paper, halfway to looking like a corpse: because this was _Zoro_ , and Zoro didn’t do that. Didn’t let anything take him down.

 

There was no strength in the hand under his own. No anything, except that unnatural chill. There was no point in still holding it, Zoro couldn’t feel his touch. Yet to let go made Sanji’s heart climb into his throat.

He had to anyway. His fingertips rested against Zoro's skin, just for a moment longer. Then he broke the contact and got to his feet, standing up beside the bed. “Okay. I’ll be… in the kitchen. Or somewhere. Around. If he… If things change, come get me.”

“We will.” Chopper nodded at him reassuringly.

 

Sanji turned and walked out of the room without looking back.

 

 

 

To be in the house a minute longer felt claustrophobic. Sanji kept moving, walking out into the garden; still kept walking, not seeing anything. He reached into his pocket and took out his cigarettes; then just held the packet clenched in one hand, folding both arms across his chest.

“Sanji-kun?” Nami’s voice sounded, close by. The cook came to a stop, staring down at the path beneath his feet. “Is everything okay?” Nami’s tone sharpened with worry. “Sanji?”

He made himself look up. Nami and Usopp were both in front of him, watching him with apprehension. “Yeah. It’s all right. They gave it to him. He’s… uh. Kawashima said, it’s a reaction. To the drug. It’ll take time. For him to deal with it.” He tightened his arms across his chest, trying to hold in the verbal incoherence that was tumbling out of him.

Nami regarded him for a moment, before looking at Usopp. “Hey… Go inside and find the kitchen, make some coffee. Strong.”

“Right.” Usopp shot a worried look at Sanji, before edging past. Nami reached out and took hold of Sanji’s arm, tugging on it gently. “Sit down.”

 

He let himself be pulled down to sit on the bench: Nami sat beside him, keeping her hand closed around his arm. Sanji found it hard to keep still. Unfurling the hand that still held his pack of cigarettes, he took one out. It took him two goes to light it. Once done, he sucked in smoke until his head spun: closed his eyes for a second.

“Oi, Sanji.” Nami’s fingers tightened slightly on his arm. “Stay with me, here.”

Sanji opened his eyes: the bright spring sunshine felt brutal on them. Blinking, he turned his head and managed to gave Nami a smile. “I’m right here, Nami-swan.”

She regarded him steadily. “Yes. You are.” Her gaze seemed to search his face. “It was bad… When they gave it to him.”

Sanji looked away briefly, before the tight squeeze of Nami’s grip on his arm made him look back at her. “Yeah. It was.”

Nami let out a long breath. “But… he’ll be okay.”

“It’s Zoro. He’s always okay.” Sanji smiled at her again, putting his cigarette back in his mouth to hold the smile there before it could fall away.

 

Nami gave him a level look. “This is me, Sanji. Stop with the everything-is-fine routine. If everything was fine, we wouldn’t be here.”

Sanji looked away, out across the garden. He couldn’t think what to say to that. To give himself something to do he took his cigarette out of his mouth and tapped it gently. Watched a few flakes of ash fall, to be whirled away by the breeze.

“What did Dr Kawashima and Chopper say, exactly?”

 

A simple question. He could deal with that. “The second dose of the anti-venom… It’s a lot for Zoro’s system to handle. So it’ll take a while for him to come through it.”

“A while? How long is a while?”

She wanted the same answers he did. But they weren’t there to give. “That seems to be up for debate.”

Nami let out an impatient sound. “Why is it, doctors never give you a goddamn straight answer?”

Sanji smiled mirthlessly. “I guess they’re not in the business of giving guarantees.”

“Feh.” Nami made an unimpressed sound. After a moment’s pause, she tucked her arm through Sanji’s, sitting close against his side. “That sucks.”

“Preaching to the choir, my sweet.” Sanji blew out another mouthful of smoke.

 

There was a minute or so of silence. The two of them sat looking out over the garden, watching the flowers swaying in the spring breeze. At last Nami spoke again. “In all this time. All the insane things we’ve been through, up to now. Did it ever occur to you, that one of us… some of us… might not actually make it?”

Sanji turned his head, fixing his gaze on her. “Not sure this is a conversation I want to have right now.”

Nami met his eyes. “Too bad. Because it’s the conversation we’re having.”

Sanji looked at her for a few seconds longer… before giving a nod. “Of course it occurred to me. But you’ve got to shove that crap into the back of your head and ignore it, or else... you never do a damn thing.”

“Right.” Nami nodded. “And that’s what you’ve got to do, right now. What you’re thinking, about Zoro and whether he’s going to come through this okay. Shove all that crap into the back of your head, and ignore it.”

 

Smoke drifted away in a thin spiral from the cigarette between his fingers, carried on the wind. Sanji watched it ghost into nothingness. He waited for the space of three breaths, before he replied. “That makes about as much sense as anything else I can actually usefully do.”

“ ‘Usefully do’?” Nami pulled back a little from him, although keeping her arm linked with his. She gave him a hard stare. “Don’t pretend to be a bigger idiot than you are. You and him, you’re… necessary to each other. You need him. And he needs you.”

“Zoro doesn’t need anyone. Or anything, other than the goal he’s set his sights on.”

“O, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you _are_ an idiot.” Nami rolled her eyes. “Without you, that musclebound swordswinger is lost. Even more lost than he usually is, and let’s face it: Zoro could  get lost in a revolving door.”

Sanji smiled, in spite of himself. “Don’t mock the directionally afflicted.”

“Point being: I would stand a better chance of navigating the Grand Line without a log pose, than the two of you would manage to exist without each other now. You say Zoro’s got his goal, that he’s trying to reach: so what? So have each of us. And on our own, before Luffy came into our lives like the force of chaos he is… before we became _nakama_ , we didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of getting close enough to even sniff our dreams. You’re a part of that, Sanji. For all of us. And for him, most of all.”

“I think you overestimate my influence.”

“I think you underestimate yourself.” Nami gave him an admonishing look. “Which is not useful, to you or to anyone else.”

Sanji let out a smoky sigh. “Nami-swan…”

“No. I don’t want to hear any more nonsense about how useless you feel in this situation.”

“That _is_ how I feel.”

“What were you expecting to feel? You’re not a magician, or a miracle worker. You’re not a doctor like Chopper or Kawashima, and from what I can gather even they are groping about in the dark here.”

“You got that bit right.” The words left Sanji bitterly, as he spoke without thinking. Immediately they left his mouth he grimaced, clenching his teeth on his cigarette. “Shit. Forget I said that.”

“I will.” Nami’s voice took on a momentarily cooler edge. There was a long pause. At last, she spoke again. “What I’m trying to spell out, and you’re not exactly making it easy for me, is that in a situation like this, everyone feels helpless. That’s because _we are._ There are things we can do, things that need doing; but an awful lot of it is just about waiting, and hoping, and trusting it will turn out all right. And about us being here: for Zoro. All of us.” She gave him a slow smile. “But when he wakes up, yours is the face he’s going to look for first. That’s how useless you are, Sanji-kun.”

 

Sanji met her gaze for a long moment. Then he gave a slight shake of his head. Nami’s eyes narrowed. “Are you disagreeing with me?”

“No.” Their arms were still linked: he moved his hand and placed it against her palm, intertwining his fingers with hers. “I wouldn’t dare. No: I’m just reminded of how fortunate it is that such an astonishingly perceptive, and assertive, and above all extraordinarily skilled navigator, should choose to remain with the crew of random lunatics that I am part of.”

“Yeah, well… It’s due in no small measure to the fact that said crew has a halfway decent chef,” Nami responded, one corner of her mouth quirking up.

“ ‘Halfway decent chef’?” Sanji winced. “Coming from you, that’s worse than any insult Zeff ever pitched at me. And I just paid you a compliment, my angel: or hadn’t you noticed?”

“I noticed.” Nami smirked at him. “That’s another reason I stay part of this crew. I like to be appreciated.”

Sanji gave her hand a squeeze. “If I day should pass and I neglect to show my appreciation, feel free to forcibly remind me.”

“You sure about that?” Nami asked dryly.

 

They sat for a while together, watching the sun come and go as the wind pulled the clouds across the sky. At last the sound of someone approaching made both look around. Usopp was walking slowly down the path towards them, carrying three mugs. He glanced from Nami to Sanji, and his worried expression eased a little. He extended the hand with two mugs towards them. “Usopp’s Extra-Powerful Caffeine Jolt, guaranteed to restore flagging energies.”

Nami accepted her mug and took a sip: her eyes screwed up. “Rrhhh…”

Warned, Sanji inhaled some of the steam rising from his own mug before he took a mouthful. “Holy shit. Were you aiming to make a beverage, or a lethal weapon?”

“I make my coffee like I make love,” Usopp declared confidently. “Hot and strong.”

“I wouldn’t pursue that analogy any further, if I were you.” Nami took the smallest possible mouthful, swallowing it with a grimace.

 

Usopp swallowed a large gulp from his own mug. “Umm… Wow. No-one was planning on sleeping any time soon, were they?”

“Certainly not now.” Sanji considered spilling his coffee ‘accidentally’ onto the garden, but thought better of it. He suspected that any plants whose roots it found its way to would be doomed. “Thanks anyway, Usopp.”

“No problem.” The sharpshooter sat down at the end of the bench, perching next to Nami. “I took some to Chopper and Dr Kawashima, too.” He passed for a moment, before continuing. “Zoro… It looks like that stuff is hitting him pretty hard.”

“Yeah.” Sanji gazed at his mug of coffee, watching the steam drift up from its surface.

“Chopper said it could be a couple of days at least before he comes through it.”

“I guess it’ll take as long as it takes.”

 

“We’ll stay here till evening. Then we’ll head back to the Going Merry, send Robin and Luffy up.” Nami spoke quietly. “Turn and turn about.”

“That’s fine.” Sanji drank another mouthful of the heart-racing coffee. “There’s lunch in the kitchen, ready for everyone to help themselves.”

“Good.” Nami stood up. “Come on, then. Let’s go help ourselves. You too, Sanji.”

Sanji gestured with his coffee mug and cigarette. “I’m good. I’ll eat later.”

“Guess again.” Nami hooked finger and thumb into his collar and tugged him to his feet. “We all eat together. And quick, before Usopp’s coffee melts its way through my stomach lining.”

 

 

They were sat around the table in the main room, half-heartedly picking their way through their lunch, when Chopper appeared. At Sanji’s quick look, the little doctor said, “Nothing’s changed. Dr Kawashima told me to take a break; then he and I can change over later on.”

“Go get yourself some lunch, Chopper: it’s all in the kitchen.” Sanji gestured with his thumb.

“Thank you.” The small reindeer acknowledged this with a nod, before disappearing to do as he’d been bidden. When he reappeared with his food, Sanji wordlessly pulled out a chair: Chopper sat down.

“You said no change…” Usopp looked at Chopper questioningly.

Chopper nodded. “Not that we can see.” He regarded his food as though he wasn’t really seeing it. “Dr Kawashima thinks Zoro is holding his own… But there’s no real way of telling how well the antidote is working, until he wakes up.”

Sanji held his glass with a last half-inch of water in it, tilting it slowly forward, then back. “At least if he’s out cold, he’s not throwing up.”

Nami grimaced slightly. “Mmh. Still eating.” She gestured to herself, then at Chopper.

“Sorry.” Sanji set his glass down on the table. “Anyone want more? I didn’t make dessert, but there’s plenty of fruit.” A quiet chorus of refusals greeted his question. Sanji nodded, then stood up. “Okay then. Do you guys mind taking care of the washing up? I’m going to go sit with Zoro a while.”

 

 

When he stepped through the doorway of the little bedroom, Sanji stood for a moment beside the bed, looking down at the swordsman. Then his gaze lifted to Kawashima. The doctor had brought another chair to the room and was sitting at the foot of the bed, his hands folded in his lap, gazing at his patient. At the sight of Sanji, the older man straightened up a little in his seat. Sanji nodded at him, moving past to take the other chair at the side of the bed. “How’s he doing?”

“Much the same.” Kawashima’s eyes returned to the swordsman.

“Is that good? Or bad?”

“He is no worse, at least.” Kawashima answered quietly.

 

Sanji turned his gaze onto the swordsman too. Zoro’s skin still had that godawful parchment look to it, and he was sweating heavily. His hands lay slackly on top of the bedcovers. Sanji stepped closer: reached out to the nearest and took hold of it, half-dreading the cold, clammy feel of it. Instead the skin was hot under his fingers. He looked at Kawashima. “He feels feverish again.”

The doctor nodded. “The second dose is working its way into his system. When the body perceives a threat to itself, it strives to fight it off.”

 

Sanji looked back at Zoro. _Fight it off, marimo. Fight to win._

 

Kawashima spoke again. “You care a great deal for your friend.”

Sanji narrowed his eyes, before glancing up at the old doctor. “Your point being?”

The old man regarded him steadily. “It may help him.”

Sanji looked down at Zoro again, speaking shortly. “Good.” He recalled what he’d done when Zoro had been suffering the immediate aftermath of the second dose of the anti-venom, struggling to hold on. How he had put his arm around the swordsman’s shoulders and held the other man close, pressing their foreheads together, telling Zoro to try to breathe through it. Kawashima had seen that. And he was watching now, as Sanji held onto the swordsman’s hand.

 

_Fuck it._

Sanji didn’t care what Kawashima might think. He and Zoro weren’t in the habit of shouting it from the rooftops; and frankly life brought them enough opportunities for having to fight their way out of tight corners, without the added risk of being attacked for sharing a relationship that some Neanderthals viewed as unnatural. But right here and now, none of that mattered. He stroked his thumb gently against the back of Zoro’s hand.

_If you were awake, you probably wouldn’t let me do this. Not if you knew someone was watching._

The swordsman, always hyper-vigilant to possible threats, tended to be guarded about public displays of affection. It had taken Sanji a while to come to terms with this. It wasn’t like he wanted to be joined at the hip to the swordsman, god forbid: but sometimes he would rest a hand on the other man’s arm without thinking; or lean against him in that way that you did with someone whose body you were as comfortable with as your own. Then he might feel Zoro stiffen, or pull away: or would catch a quick frown from the swordsman’s dark eyes.

 

Kawashima’s voice broke in on his thoughts again. “Forgive me. I did not mean to pry, or to cause offence.”

Sanji let out a sigh, before looking round at the doctor again. “Forget it.” He held the older man’s gaze for a long moment. “I told him I’d help him get through this. So whatever I can do that will help him, I’ll do it.”

“For now, it will be mostly waiting.”

“Then I’ll wait.” Sanji moved his thumb slowly against Zoro’s hand. “As long as it takes.”

 

 

 

As the afternoon wore on, the watchers by the bed changed, as each person took their turn. Kawashima was replaced by Chopper: Sanji yielded his place to Nami, who then swapped with Usopp. Retreating to the kitchen, he prepared a casserole which he could simply leave to slow-cook for the evening meal. That done he spent an unnecessary amount of time wiping down, before Nami insisted that he come and sit in the main room with her. Sanji made tea and they sat talking quietly for some time, until both had run out of words and energy. At last Nami glanced at the window, lifted her chin from where it had been propped on her hand. “Eh... It’s probably time for us to head back to the ship.”

“Hm?” Sanji looked up from where he was lying on his back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “Oh. Yeah.”

Nami slowly stood up, stretching. “Oof. The other two will be over here later. There anything you or Chopper need from the Going Merry?”

“I could do with more cigarettes. They’re in the middle store cupboard in the galley.” Sanji swung his legs down onto the floor and sat up. “You should probably check with Chopper, I guess there might be stuff he needs fetching here too.”

“Okay.” Nami headed to the doorway. “I’ll go grab Usopp, then we’re out of here.”

Sanji got to his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Right. See you tomorrow.”

Nami stopped, then turned back. She stepped up to the cook, before putting her arms around his shoulders and giving him a brief hug. It was so unexpected that Sanji merely stood within her embrace, blinking. Nami pulled back and gave him a small smile. “It’ll be all right, Sanji-kun. Take care, and we’ll be back tomorrow.” With that she turned and made her exit.


	20. You're Going Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoro is still lost in dreams... And trouble develops with the locals.

_And when you start to fall and those footsteps they start to fade_  
 _Well then you know you’re going down_  
 _Yeah, you’re falling to the ground_  
 _And you know you’re going down  
_ _For the last time_

_\- Lou Reed_

 

\-----

 

 

 

 

Once Robin and Luffy’s had arrived, Sanji dished up supper. Chopper joined them while Kawashima watched over Zoro: the four nakama ate together quietly, even Luffy seeming more subdued than normal. Both he and Robin asked the same questions about Zoro’s progress that Nami and Usopp had. Sanji let Chopper field them while he stirred his food around on his plate, elbow propped on the table. His attention drifted: it took a nudge in his ribs from Luffy’s elbow to bring him back. “Uh?”

“Aren’t you hungry?” Luffy pointed at the unfinished food on Sanji’s plate.

Sanji looked down at it. “Not especially.”

“Can I have it?”

Wordlessly, Sanji passed his plate sideways to their ever-voracious captain. As Luffy began polishing off the leftovers, Robin fixed her gaze on Sanji from across the table. “You look tired, cook-san.”

“I’m all right.” Sanji shrugged.

“Why don’t you rest for a while? Luffy and I will take care of these.” She gestured at the dishes. “And then we can take a turn at sitting with Zoro, while you and Chopper have a break.”

“I need to change over with Dr Kawashima,” said Chopper. “He hasn’t eaten supper yet.”

Robin looked at him levelly. “I’m sure that Dr Kawashima will be able to eat supper while watching over Zoro, if we take a plate of food to him. You ought to get some rest, while you can.” She stood up. “Sanji, could you make up a dish of food for Dr Kawashima? I’ll take it to him.”

Sanji stood up too. “Sure.” It wasn’t until he did this that he realised the truth of his dark-haired crewmate’s words. He _was_ tired. Not just tired: beat.

“I’ll help you!” Luffy got up from the table too.

Sanji gave him a look. “Yeah, you helping me serve up food: _that’ll_ work.” He shook his head. “You stay here. If you want seconds, just give me your plate.”

 

 

 

 

The evening passed slowly. Sanji attempted to follow Robin’s advice to take a break, sitting at the table with a pot of tea and a cigarette, but restlessness made it hard to settle. Judging from Chopper’s frequent fidgeting on the couch, the little doctor was also finding relaxation an elusive goal. When Chopper finally sat up with a sigh, Sanji looked round at him. “You okay?”

Chopper nodded, but his expression didn’t lend much credence to this. “I just can’t stop thinking.”

“Want some tea?” Sanji gestured at the pot. “It’s still warm.”

“No. Thanks.” Chopper got up and wandered over to Kawashima’s desk, where he pulled out the chair and sat down. Reaching out to the books Kawashima had left there, the little reindeer opened one and flattened down its pages, bending his gaze down onto the fine print.

 

Sanji leaned back in his chair, shutting his eyes. Now that the couch was free he could lie down on it himself. Yet he knew that if he did, he would find switching off his brain as difficult as Chopper evidently was.

_Hell with this._

He opened his eyes; stood up. “I’m gonna go sit with the others for a while.” At Chopper’s look, he shrugged. “I feel like I’d rather be doing something useful.”

After a moment Chopper nodded; then he returned his eyes to the textbook.

 

When Sanji went into the bedroom, Robin and Kawashima occupied the two chairs. Luffy, he was surprised to see, was sitting cross-legged at the top of Zoro’s bed, close to the swordsman’s head. He frowned. “Oi, craphead. What the hell are you doing there?”

Luffy looked up at him with an expression of surprise. “Ah?” He turned his gaze down to Zoro. “I’m talking to him. I think he can hear me better when I sit here.”

Sanji stepped up to the side of the bed. “He can’t hear you at all, idiot. He’s out cold.”

Luffy folded his arms and gave the cook a long look from under his brows. “Just because he’s not answering me, doesn’t mean he’s not listening.”

“He may have a point.” Robin spoke quietly; when Sanji looked across at her, she gave him a smile. “It’s often true that those who appear to be unaware, can actually still hear sounds from their surrounding environment. Hearing appears to be one of the most persistent of our senses.”

Sanji gave this due consideration. He looked down at Zoro’s face. The swordsman looked much as he had hours ago, sunk deep in a place where nothing was reaching him. But Sanji had learned from experience that Robin’s opinions, however unorthodox, were usually authentic.

Luffy, who was watching him, let out a satisfied sound. “Hah!”

“All right, dumbass.” Sanji gave him a quelling look.

 

Kawashima spoke from the foot of the bed. “Your friends are quite correct. There is significant evidence that those in states of apparent insensibility have heard words, even whole conversations carried out in their presence.”

Sanji felt irritated now. It was one thing for Robin to put the point to him: but his lingering anger with Kawashima sparked up a little at the older man’s comment. “Okay: I get it.”

“Once or twice, Zoro has seemed to rouse a little.” Robin looked down at the swordsman on the bed. “Not for long, or very aware… But perhaps a good sign.”

Kawashima nodded. “His fever is rising, however. When he does awake, we must ensure that he has water.”

 

Luffy leaned in towards Zoro, speaking close by the swordsman’s ear. “Hear that, Zoro? You need to wake up soon and drink plenty of water. You’ve been sleeping for far too long… It’s no fun for the rest of us, waiting around here.”

Sanji smiled in spite of himself. Luffy’s bedside manner was definitely not one that would be recommended; but if anything was going to penetrate the feverish stupor Zoro was in, their captain’s peremptory instruction was possibly just annoying enough to do so. Sitting down carefully on the edge of the bed himself, he watched the swordsman’s face. “Oi, marimo. Pay attention to what our captain’s telling you.”

Just for a second, Zoro’s brows drew down a little, a faint crease appearing between them.

“Eh, see!” Luffy grinned. “He can hear us, alright!”

The fingers of Zoro’s hand lying nearest to them on the bed twitched. Luffy regarded them closely, before lifting his own forefinger. “Maybe if I poke him in the ribs he’ll wake up.”

Sanji closed his own hand firmly around Luffy’s finger. “Don’t get carried away, asshole.”

 

After a while, Chopper appeared in the doorway. He took in the sight of his three nakama sitting on and beside the bed, then looked at Kawashima. “I’ve come to take over. Is there any change?”

Kawashima stood up, slowly and stiffly. “Not a great deal. He appears to be becoming more aware, but not anywhere near fully so.”

Chopper took his place in the chair at the foot of the bed. Turning his gaze onto Robin, he said, “It’s after midnight. You two should get back to the Going Merry.”

Robin got to her feet. “I suppose so.” She looked at Zoro, before bending down and briefly touching the swordsman’s hand. “Good night, Zoro. We’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

“Yeah, you better be awake by then.” Luffy spoke emphatically, before sliding off the bed and standing up himself.

 

Sanji took Robin’s chair after their two nakama had gone, ushered out by Kawashima. He felt Chopper’s gaze on him and looked round at his crewmate.

“You should get some sleep, Sanji.” Chopper spoke quietly. “I’ve got this covered.”

“I’m not sleepy right now.” It was true. Sanji still felt tired, but in an edgy bone-itching way that he knew would make sleep an impossibility right now. “I want to be here when he wakes up.”

“That could be any time. Hours, maybe.”

“Or it could be in a few minutes.” Sanji slid back a little in his chair, letting his legs stretch out along the floor in front of him. “I’ll stay here.”

 

 

 

 

 

_The ocean currents carried him, far and deep. Sometimes he tried to swim, but the water pushed him back until his strength gave out. So he let himself be taken, spun, dragged further out to sea._

_\- Rip tide. Don’t fight the current, you’ll drown. Let it carry you out._

_The water was no longer chill but warm, as if he was foundering in a sea of blood. Sometimes the rocking of the waves sickened him to his stomach, and he put his hands out, reaching for something that was solid, that he could anchor himself with. But there was nothing there._

 

_\- Anchor boy!_

_Somewhere else, at another time, there was another sea that he had dived into. Following something precious, something sinking, that he had to find and save. Then he had been able to swim strongly, to reach down and close his hand around something before it sank beyond reach. Bringing it up to the light._

_\- You’ve been sleeping_

_for too long_

_The world reversed. Now he was sinking into the deep blue water and above him hung the silvery mosaic of the surface far above and there was a hand holding his, tugging him upwards. The shift dizzied him and he felt his grip loosen, let go: his fingers slid through water and he was drifting down again. The pressure of the water around him thickened, sharp pain growing in his ears and head until he couldn’t bear it any longer and cried out, pushing at the black water with his hands to try to halt his descent, the last air from his lungs escaping upwards in bubbles that rose and were lost in the darkness_

 

 

“…You’re awake.” The hand that had pulled him up before he’d let go had somehow found him: was holding onto his again. Zoro could feel fingers curled around his. “It's okay. Take it slow.”

Zoro gazed upwards. Light that was dim yellow: not the brightness of the sky, or the shimmering fractured blues of the sea. He was out of the water, with the hand holding onto his: and yet the pain in his head remained, as if he was still fathoms down.

“Zoro?” A voice he knew. He turned his head, wincing as the movement seemed to send the pain rolling like a boulder to slam from one side of his brain to the other. Sanji was beside him, and it was his hand the swordsman could feel holding his own, cool and firm. As he met the cook’s gaze, Sanji gave a small smile. “About time you woke up. It’s been a while.”

The cook’s words seemed to echo a little in Zoro’s brain, bouncing off the inside of his aching skull. He shut his eyes for a moment; felt the grip on his hand tighten, and opened them again. Sanji was frowning now. “Oi… Stay awake, damn marimo. You only just came round, it’s bad manners to go to sleep when someone’s having a conversation with you.”

 

Zoro focussed on the cook with an effort. He wasn’t sure he could talk after being in the sea so long, breathing saltwater. When he tried, his throat burned; he coughed, then clenched his jaw at the impact this had on the throbbing ache in his head.

“Easy. Take a sip of water.” Sanji produced a glass from somewhere. “You need help sitting up?”

Zoro had no idea. He tried moving his arms, bringing them down against something soft that shifted as he leaned his weight against it. _A bed,_ he remembered, before pushing with all his strength and levering himself partially upright. He got only a little way before his arms began to shake, threatening to pitch him flat again: he compromised by turning a little onto his side, managing to support himself with one elbow and reach out for the glass with his other hand.

“I can hold it.” Sanji was watching him, frowning.

Zoro ignored him, closing his fingers around the glass. It felt cool against his skin. Lifting it from the cook’s grasp, he brought it in a wavering arc to his lips and took a gulp; another. Then he needed to breathe, and the glass was suddenly too heavy to keep lifted any longer. His hand started a tilting slide downwards – until the cook’s fingers closed around it, holding it and the glass together. “Whoa… steady does it.” Sanji spoke quietly.

Zoro took a breath in. The burning in his throat had eased a little. “…What’re… you doing… cook?”

“Making sure you drink this water rather than winding up wearing it.” Sanji’s hand stayed holding his. “Ready for another try at that?”

For an answer Zoro lifted his arm. Sanji moved with him: this time the swordsman managed to drain half the glass before letting it be lowered again. He felt the cold liquid settling inside him, pooling in his stomach: a faint queasiness stirred within him and he pushed his fingers against the glass, nudging it away. “…Enough.”

 

“Zoro, you have to drink more than that.” A second voice joined them. Next to Sanji appeared Chopper, looking at the swordsman. “You haven’t drunk anything since this morning.”

“I drank plenty… of water in the sea.” Zoro could remember that distinctly. The burn in his throat as he’d sunk and let the saltwater in.

Chopper’s expression morphed from concern into incomprehension. “The sea?”

“Had enough…” Zoro was too tired to hold himself up any longer. He let himself lie down on his back, resting his aching head against the pillow. “Lemme sleep…”

“You can sleep all you want, in a moment. Just drink a little more water first.” The cook bent over him, still holding the glass. “C’mon, marimo. I’ll hold it. Just a little more.”

 

Zoro’s stomach felt uneasy, swaying like a boat on the waves. The pain in his head still drummed a slow beat in time with the pulse of his blood. The light was adding to the pain, so he shut his eyes. Felt Sanji’s voice dissolve slowly back into surf sound, ebb tide taking him back out to sea.

_\- Sleep_

_all_

_you_

_want_

 

Sanji set the still half-full glass back on the table, with a grim expression. “Crap. He’s out again.”

“At least he drank a little.” Chopper also looked discouraged.

Sanji slumped back in the chair, rubbing his hands wearily over his face before folding his arms. “Ahh… Maybe it’s better that he gets some sleep. It’s the ass-end of the night, any sane person would be sleeping now anyway.”

Chopper almost managed to conceal a yawn. “Uhm… Yes. So why don’t you go and lie down on the couch? I can keep watch till morning.”

“You’re as tired as I am.” Sanji shot him a look.

“I’m fine.” Chopper smothered another yawn. “Look, we don’t both need to be sitting here. Please, Sanji. Go and get some sleep. I promise I’ll come and fetch you, if anything changes.”

Reluctantly Sanji was forced to admit the sense of Chopper’s words. “Well… Okay. Just for a couple of hours.” He slowly got to his feet. “I’ll come change over with you first thing in the morning.”

“Fine.” Chopper blinked the sleepiness from his expression, widening his eyes.

 

Returning to the main room, Sanji sat heavily on the couch. He slid off his shoes and jacket and then lay down, dragging a blanket over himself. Despite the anxieties circulating in his brain, he felt fatigue pulling him under surprisingly quickly. His last coherent thoughts were of deliberating what meals he should cook the next day… but before he got halfway through menu planning, he was asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

A loud thudding brought Sanji from oblivion to wakefulness in the space of a half a second. Before he knew where he was, he was sitting up with his feet on the floor, staring muzzily across the room. Sunlight cut through the window and fell across the shelves of books and glass tanks: Sanji looked at them blankly before a resumption of the loud knocking sound that had woken him sounded again. Someone at the front door, obviously swinging the iron knocker hard against the wood.

Pushing off the blanket and swinging his feet to the floor, Sanji stood up with a slight groan, his hands going to the small of his back to rub at the ache there. A third round of loud knocking echoed down the passage and he straightened up and headed towards it, muttering as he went. “Yeah, yeah… Coming.”

 

He hauled open the doctor’s recalcitrant front door, to find Nami standing on the step frowning up at him, an apprehensive-looking Usopp just behind her. “Great. I was beginning to think we were going to have to bust the door down.”

“Sorry. I was asleep.” Sanji stepped to one side to allow them inside. As he did so, he noticed people across the street, standing around the doorway of another house almost opposite. There were half a dozen women and men clustered together, gazing with less-than-friendly expressions at the Mugiwara. Sanji returned their stares with a matching one, before closing the door behind Usopp and Nami and following them down the passageway. “You been getting acquainted with the locals?”

“That’s the main reason we were hoping someone would open up sooner.” Nami led the way into the main room, dropping a bag that she’d been carrying onto a chair. “The good doctor’s neighbours gave us something of a welcoming committee.”

“Trouble?” Sanji paused, looking at her.

Nami shrugged. “Nothing we couldn’t handle. But I think you might want to let Kawashima know anyway.”

“He already knows.” Sanji shook his head. “And I got the impression he didn’t much care what they thought.”

“He might start caring, if they decide that blowing off steam verbally isn’t making the impact they’re hoping for.”

“I think I’m getting a return of my ‘tar and feathers isn’t a look that suits me’ allergy.” Usopp folded his arms. “Why is it that people always jump to the conclusion that pirates are trouble?”

“Wow, that’s a tough one.” Nami gave him a look. “Maybe because, generally they are?”

 

Sanji noticed the cloth-wrapped bundle that Usopp had been carrying, which the sharpshooter had placed on the table. “What’s that?”

Usopp brightened slightly: bending over he unwrapped the bundle, revealing a mechanical object with three short, curving pieces of flat metal joined together. “It’s a cooling fan.” At Sanji’s raised eyebrow, Usopp nodded at the device. “Y’know, ‘cos Zoro’s got a fever and all… I thought it might help cool him down. It’s clockwork. I made it,” he added unnecessarily.

Sanji regarded the fan, impressed. “That’s a great idea, Usopp.”

“How’s Zoro doing?” Nami asked.

Sanji blinked. “He was in and out of it last night when me and Chopper were watching over him… Crap, what time is it?”

“Little after nine o’clock.”

“Fuck!” Sanji had never overslept in the morning, not in years. He must have been dead to the world on the couch. “I said I’d swap with Chopper, give him a break.”

“Not to worry, Sanji-kun.” Nami patted him on the shoulder. “We’re here now, we’ll take over.”

 

Sanji went with his two nakama anyway to the back bedroom. When they entered it was to find Kawashima sitting at the side of the bed, his attention on his patient. At the end of the bed Chopper was still in his chair but curled sideways in it, fast asleep.

Kawashima looked up at the three Mugiwara. “Good morning.”

They answered in chorus. Sanji glanced at the sleeping Chopper, before turning his gaze down to Zoro. “How is he?”

“His fever is still rising.” Kawashima gave a slight shake of his head.

“Has he woken up at all?”

“Only briefly.”

 

Nami sat carefully on the edge of the bed, frowning slightly at the swordsman. Reaching out, she took one of his hands in hers. “Usopp and I can sit with him for a while. Is there anything we should do?”

“If he should awaken, he needs to drink.” Kawashima gestured at the glass of water that stood nearby. “He is becoming very dehydrated.”

“Got it.” Nami looked round at Usopp. “Hey. You want to set up that fan of yours? He feels like he needs it.”

Sanji debated inwardly whether to stay with Nami and Usopp, then decided that the two of them had it covered. “I’ll go make a start on breakfast.” He took a step towards Chopper, and laid a hand gently on the little reindeer’s shoulder. “Oi, Chopper. Wake up.”

Chopper twitched, then his eyes opened. After gazing blearily up for a few seconds, he uncurled himself in the chair and sat up… before letting out a small groan. “Ooughh… I must’ve fallen asleep.”

“Don’t worry. You needed it,” Sanji assured him. “C’mon, I’m gonna fix us all some breakfast. These guys can hold the fort in here.”

 

 

 

Sanji waited until after they’d eaten to clue Kawashima up on the latest developments with his neighbours. He was washing up when Kawashima came into the kitchen, bringing the last of the breakfast plates: as Sanji took them, he said to the doctor, “My friends mentioned that they had a little trouble from your fellow townspeople, just outside this morning. I’m guessing that minding their own business isn’t high on their agenda.”

Kawashima paused. “That is… unfortunate. I will speak with them.”

“Mind if I listen in?” Sanji wanted to know exactly how Kawashima was going to handle this.

“If you wish.” Kawashima hesitated, then said, “It might be as well to let me to direct the conversation. They know me, after all.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t sour diplomatic relations.” Sanji shook his head. “Just… think maybe if they actually have to look us in the eye, it might be harder for them to write us off as the troublemakers they obviously seem to think we are.”

“A worthy point.” Kawashima let out a small sigh. “One which may escape their minds, however.”

“Give it your best shot.”

 

The knot of people were still hanging around on the doorstep of the house opposite when Kawashima opened his front door and walked out. As Sanji followed the old man across the street he saw the townsfolk register first the doctor, then himself: their expressions shifted from wary to hostile.

“Good morning.” Kawashima stopped in front of them, nodding politely at each person in turn. “I understand you may have concerns that you wish to discuss with me?”

One man in the centre of the group glanced at Sanji before frowning at the doctor. “Our concerns are not with you, Dr Kawashima – but with those pirates. We don’t want their sort round here. They’re trouble.”

“They have given me an assurance that they will cause no trouble of any sort.” Kawashima spoke calmly.

“Who believes what criminals like them would say?” demanded a woman. Sanji felt an urge to respond, but as he’d promised to let Kawashima take the lead he planted his hands in his pockets and kept quiet.

“I believe them.” Kawashima still spoke quietly, reasonably. “And they have given me no reason to doubt their word.”

“You have no business welcoming crooks like them into our town!” The woman sounded unmollified. “Why are you allowing them to come and go freely?”

“One of their number is seriously ill, and requires my assistance. I am giving him treatment.”

The man snorted, folding his arms. “Let the scum die. Good riddance.”

 

Sanji’s head snapped up, his eye fixing on the man. “What did you say?”

Kawashima raised a calming hand, looking back at the cook. “Please. Allow me to handle this situation.”

“Tell your friendly neighbour there that if he says that again, I will personally make sure he’s the next one requiring medical assistance.” Sanji ground this out from between clenched teeth.

“And you say they aren’t troublemakers?” the woman flung at Kawashima.

“They’re no-good lawbreakers. If the authorities get wind of the fact that we’ve got pirates staying here, we’ll all suffer.” The man scowled at Sanji.

“There is no need for that to happen.” Kawashima spoke firmly. “Once their friend has recovered, they will be on their way. And I repeat my assurance: they will not cause any trouble.” He looked at Sanji. “This young man can confirm that.”

Sanji knew what the doctor meant. Keeping his balled-up fists in his pockets, he took a breath: let his eyes meet those of the people in front of him. They stared back at him: angry, suspicious gazes; but underneath he could see something else. Fear.

 

_We’re the big bad pirates. And nothing I can say is going to change that, in their minds. But the last thing we need is the locals trying to kick us out, right now._

 

Working hard at banishing the anger he was feeling from his face, he gave a short nod. “What Dr Kawashima says is right. Neither me nor any of my crewmates came here to make trouble. We came because we needed help, for our sick friend. And like the doctor says, as soon as he’s well enough we’ll be on our way.”

A short silence greeted his statement. At last the man in the centre of the group of locals turned his gaze back to Kawashima. “All right. But it’s your responsibility to keep these people in line. Any trouble, it’ll be on your head.”

Kawashima bowed. “I understand. There will be no trouble.” With that he turned and walked back to his house.

 

Once inside the house with the door shut behind them, Sanji looked at the older man. “You think it’ll end there?”

“Let us hope so.” Kawashima rubbed finger and thumb across his eyes, wearily. “Perhaps having aired their grievances will be enough to satisfy them.”

Sanji wasn’t so sure, but this was clearly Kawashima’s business to sort out. “Well... Okay.”


	21. In A Little While

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mugiwara are doing what they can... But time is starting to run out.

_This isn’t happening_  
 _I’m not here, I’m not here_  
 _In a little while  
_ _I’ll be gone_

_\- Radiohead_

 

\-----

 

The rest of the day passed uneventfully enough. In the sickroom Zoro remained mostly insensible and with a steadily climbing fever, despite both doctors’ efforts. Each time he took a stint in the small bedroom Sanji sensed that both Chopper and Kawashima were growing more concerned about the swordsman’s condition, although neither said as much.

Zoro grew more restless as the afternoon moved towards evening. Nami and Usopp returned to the Going Merry and Sanji took a turn at sitting at the swordsman’s bedside. He noticed Zoro seemed closer to the surface of awareness: from time to time the swordsman’s muscles twitched, as he stirred under the covers. Watching closely, Sanji saw the other man’s eyes shifting under his eyelids and realised that Zoro was dreaming again. A sinking feeling filled the cook.

_All this, and he’s still having those shitty dreams. When the hell is this damn antidote going to actually do some good?_

 

Zoro’s restlessness grew. Sanji waited for the inevitable, leaning forward with his folded arms resting across his knees.

A shudder ran through the swordsman’s body: he let out a breath, his eyes dragging open. Both arms lifted, as if he was trying to fend something off. Sanji reached out and took hold of the nearest hand; felt a jolt of shock go through the swordsman. “It’s okay. It’s only me.”

Zoro’s gaze tracked sideways, finding him. The swordsman’s pupils were blown wide: the hand in Sanji’s clenched on his. “…No…”

“It’s all right, Zoro.” Sanji used his name deliberately, trying to ground him. “You were dreaming. You’re awake now.”

“…Dreaming?..” Zoro’s gaze slid away, towards the end of the bed. “They’re… There’s too many…”

“There’s only you and me here.” Sanji spoke quietly, leaning in close so he could keep his face within the other man’s view. “And Chopper and Dr Kawashima are in the other room. There’s no-one else here.”

 

Zoro’s other hand moved to the blanket over his stomach: clumsily he took hold of it, trying to pull it away. “I can’t… fight… until I take it out…” His fingers curled, as though trying to clench around something embedded in his body. “Can’t…”

“There’s nothing there.” Keeping hold of the swordsman’s other hand, Sanji tried to still the groping fingers.

“Nghh…” Zoro struggled with him. “…No… _Let me_ …”

For a few seconds Sanji held onto him, trying to restrain the swordsman’s hands as gently as he could. Then he felt the resistance suddenly cease. Looking at Zoro’s face, he saw that the other man’s eyes were closed again, his head fallen loosely to the side.

Slowly and deliberately, Sanji let Zoro’s hands rest back on the covers. He took hold of the blanket and pulled it carefully up around the swordsman, before pushing back his chair and moving to the window. Pushing it open he took his cigarettes from his pocket and lit one, staring out into the dusk.

 

He’d been standing there smoking for some time when the sound of someone coming into the bedroom came from behind him. Chopper’s voice reached him a moment later. “Robin and Luffy will probably be here soon. I’ll sit with him until they get here.”

“He woke up.” Sanji exhaled smoke, still staring out into the growing darkness. “Just for a moment.”

“Were you able to get him to drink?”

Sanji turned around. “No. He was pretty out of it.” He looked down at the swordsman on the bed. “I don’t think he really knew he was here.”

 

Chopper leaned over the bed and took Zoro’s pulse, his eyes resting on the unconscious man’s face. “The fever’s still severe. It’s not surprising he’s not aware of his surroundings.”

“It doesn’t seem like he’s getting any better, Chopper.” Sanji spoke simply. “If anything, he’s getting worse.”

Chopper bit his lip, before straightening up and looking back at him. “I know it seems bad. But this is how we thought it was likely to go. That the anti-venom would have these kinds of effects, before it starts to work.”

“But you and Kawashima don’t really have any idea how long that’s likely to take.” Sanji still spoke bluntly.

“No.” Chopper’s voice was small.

“Then do you have an idea of how much longer he can go on like this? Is that easier to answer?”

“That’s not easy to answer at all.” This time the little doctor’s voice wavered slightly: Sanji looked up, to see his small nakama staring at him. “That is, I think I know the answer. But do you think it’s easy for me, knowing it?”

Sanji closed his eyes for a moment. “No.”

“Do you want me to tell you?”

“Fuck…” Sanji opened his eyes again. Stared back at his nakama. “I… Yeah. Tell me.”

 

Chopper lowered his gaze to the swordsman lying on the bed again. “If this fever doesn’t ease in the next forty-eight hours… Or if it gets any worse… The dehydration and elevated temperature will start shutting down his body. He’s already showing signs.”

“ ‘Shutting down’?” Sanji gave a half-shake of his head. “What does that mean?”

“His heart will speed up, the more dehydrated he becomes and the higher his fever rises. He’ll start having seizures.” Chopper spoke with quiet precision. “If he continues to get worse, at some point his major organs will begin to fail.”

Sanji found he was holding his breath. Letting it out with a harsh sound, he shook his head again. “That’s… not what’s going to happen.”

Chopper looked back at him. “Sanji… you asked me to tell you. I know Zoro: I know how strong he is… But Zoro is human, and human bodies have their limits. Regardless of the fact that he can push those limits further than any other person I have ever come across, there will be a point beyond which even he can’t go.”

 

There was silence in the room, except for the shallow sound of Zoro’s breathing. At last Sanji moved, walking around the bed to stand next to his small nakama. “Thank you, Chopper.”

“What for?” Chopper sounded as though his explanation had cost him.

“For telling me what I needed to know.” Sanji rested his hand briefly on the little doctor’s shoulder. Then with a quick look down at Zoro, he turned and left the room.

 

 

 

 

 

When Robin and Luffy arrived a little later, the first the cook knew of it was when a voice penetrated his thoughts as he sliced vegetables in the kitchen.

“Cook-san?” Robin spoke quietly, but it still made him jump: his knife slipped and nicked his finger.

“Shit!” Sanji lifted his hand away from the food quickly. “Sorry, Robin-chwan.” Blood filled the cut and he wheeled to the sink, turning on the tap and shoving his hand into the stream of cold water.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” Robin reached for a cloth and held it out to him: Sanji took his finger out of the water and wrapped it quickly in the cloth. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’ll live. Occupational hazard.” Another scar to add to the collection of nicks and slices he’d dealt himself over the years. “I was rushing… I’m behind-hand with fixing supper, my own fault.”

“Can I help?”

“No, it’s okay. I can manage.” Sanji lifted the cloth away from his finger and inspected the cut critically. “Pshh… That’s not too bad.” He glanced around the kitchen. “This being a doctor’s house, I’m guessing he must have a first aid kit stashed somewhere.”

“I’ll ask Dr Kawashima.” Robin left the kitchen.

 

She was back in less than a minute, carrying a small box. “There are plasters in here. How big do you need?”

“Small will do it. Thanks.” Sanji accepted the plaster, wrapping it over the cut on his finger. That done, he picked up his knife and resumed work. Robin seemed in no hurry to leave him. After a few moments, he said, “I’ll get this done pretty soon. We should be able to eat in half an hour.”

“That’ll be fine.” Robin drew out the wooden stool at one side of the kitchen and sat down. “You don’t mind if I stay here while you work?”

“No.” Sanji used his knife to slide the prepared vegetables off the chopping board into a bowl, before giving her a glance. “I didn’t hear you guys arrive. Is Luffy sitting with Zoro?”

“Yes. He’s talking to him again.” Robin rested her chin on her hand. “When I left them, Luffy was telling him the story of how he defeated the sea king that bit off Shanks’ arm.”

Sanji smiled as he reached for a frying pan. “That craphead needs some new material. He must’ve told that one about a thousand times.”

“But he never tires of telling it.” Robin smiled too.

“I don’t suppose it’ll bother Zoro, hearing it again.” Sanji’s smile faded after he said this.

 

There was a beat of silence, before Robin said, “He is holding on.”

“Yeah.” Sanji turned and set the pan on the stove. Stood with both hands resting on the counter, his back to Robin. “He is.”

“I talked with Chopper. He told me what he said to you.”

Sanji took a deep breath, before turning back to face her. His crewmate’s eyes were fixed on him, her face still. “I asked him. So yeah: he told me. What could happen.”

“Did you really wish to know?”

“If something’s the truth, then not knowing it doesn’t make it go away.”

“Nothing is the truth until it exists.” Robin’s brown eyes rested on him. “Until then, it’s just a possible outcome.”

“Then one possible outcome of this… is what Chopper said.”

“Have you asked Dr Kawashima, also? He is, after all, the expert in this situation.”

 

Sanji set his teeth together, hesitating… Then decided he might as well say it. “I talked to him two days ago. He told me that the only other person he’d ever tried to treat for a dream cone sting died.”

Robin’s eyes widened slightly. “He said that?”

“Yeah.”

His dark-haired crewmate regarded him for a long moment. Then she glanced towards the doorway, before returning her gaze to him. “Does Chopper know this?”

“I’m damn sure he doesn’t. I wouldn’t know either, if I hadn’t asked Kawashima directly. I nearly told Chopper, but then I thought: what good would it do? It won’t change anything. It’ll just make Chopper feel worse. And he already feels bad enough about the whole situation.”

“I agree.” Robin considered for a moment. “But I’m not entirely comfortable with keeping this information back, either.”

“When all this is over with, we can have an encounter session with everyone and ‘fess up.” Sanji didn’t mean for this to have come out sounding as flippant as it did. “But for now, let’s keep it between you, me and the good doctor.”

There was a long pause. Then Robin nodded. “Agreed.”

 

Sanji turned back to the stove and picked up a bottle of oil: poured a little into the frying pan. He was about to light the flame beneath it when Robin spoke again. “You’ve known about this for two days, cook-san.”

Sanji carefully put the bottle of bottle of oil back down on the counter. He didn’t turn around. “Yeah.”

“I wish you had spoken of it sooner.”

Sanji did face her then. Acknowledging her concern, he gave an apologetic nod. “I’m sorry. I know I should have kept you guys in the loop.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She shook her head. “This was a burden of knowledge you could have shared. Instead of carrying it alone.”

The cook let out a long breath. “Maybe. But I think I didn’t want to. Talking about it felt like it would make it more real. It’s like you said, Robin-chwan… Until something happens, it’s just a possible outcome.”

Robin held his gaze for a little longer… before giving him a small smile. “A sound philosophy, cook-san.”

 

 

 

 

 

Supper came and went. The evening turned into night. Just as before, Robin and Luffy returned to the Going Merry a little after midnight. Sanji took the next watch; after a while, Chopper appeared in the doorway. He came to stand beside the bed, looking down at Zoro. “Has he been awake?”

“Couple of times.” Sanji also looked at the swordsman. “He’s been more restless. But when he does open his eyes, he’s still totally out of it.”

Chopper nodded. “You can go get some sleep now, if you want.”

Sanji shook his head. “Think I’ll stay here.”

 

 

_The light was white, brilliant through his closed eyelids. When he opened them the brightness hurt: an ache that went in through his eyes and pierced straight to the back of his skull. He half-closed them; lessening the glare, but unwilling to shut them and go back to wherever he’d been._

_A voice was speaking, close by. He couldn’t make out the words. Instead he turned his head, trying to see what was there apart from the bruising brightness._

_Chopper: he recognised his nakama’s face, bending over him. That made sense. The white. The snow, of Drum Island. That must be where they were. Only he remembered Drum Island as somewhere he’d nearly frozen his ass off; yet now he was warm._

 

_\- Don’t sleep in the snow._

_He wasn’t sleeping. He was awake and looking up at Chopper._

 

_\- Stay awake. Or you’ll freeze._

 

_He smiled then._

_\- I’m not cold._

 

_The snowdrift he was leaning against was warm and comfortable, his shoulders resting against it. It didn’t smell like snow should, of ice and sky. It smelled warm and spicy, somehow familiar._

_Cold touched his lips: flooded his tongue. Snowflakes landing there, melting. His mouth felt cold. He swallowed and the chill spread down his throat. He wanted to catch one. Lifted his hand, holding it out to the falling white sky. Ice crystals danced, sifting past his fingertips. He felt them press against his lips again. Saw Chopper, and held out his hand, offering him the snowflakes glistening there._

_\- Oi… look. It’s snowing._

 

_His hand moved among the falling flakes. But the white was changing, shifting: flushing with pink._

  _\- Cherry blossom in winter. Do you see it?_

_There was a sweet smell now, that reminded him of sitting under the tree at the Isshin Dojo in spring. Snowflakes turned into petals, still floating down._

_\- Do you see it, Chopper?_

  _He smiled again. Crushed a handful of the pink petals in his hand, to release the scent more strongly. Soft after the sparkling crystals of ice._

 

_A petal landed on the back of his closed hand. Flushed deeper in colour, darkening from pink to rose. Another beside it, this one red. He frowned, releasing the handful and turning his palm uppermost again to catch this new fall. More petals, deepening to scarlet: no longer ice but warm as summer rain, dissolving on his skin into fat drops that ran in lines and dripped down his wrist._

 

_\- You made the rain come._

 

_He didn’t know how he’d done this. How he’d transformed the snow into flowers; and now into rain. The sweet scent had gone. Instead there was a smell he knew too well, salt and warm and metallic. He felt a drop fall between his parted lips and he knew the taste too. He lifted his hand up and watched the blood trickle down it._

 

_\- There needs to be more rain._

 

_He was rising up now, into the sky._

 

_\- More rain._

 

_Every wound he’d ever had opened like a speaking mouth and red rain fell, disappearing below him into nothingness._

 

 

 

Chopper set the glass of water to one side. “It’s no good… He’s not awake any more. He’ll choke.”

Sanji looked at Zoro’s face, where the swordsman’s head lay back against his supporting arm. The other man’s eyes were closed. “Crap…” He felt a rising sense of frustration. “Let’s try to rouse him again, he was there for a little while - ”

“Not any more. He’s slipped back under, you can see that.” Chopper’s voice was quiet. “Let him rest.”

Slowly Sanji brought his arm downwards, letting Zoro’s shoulders lie back against the bed. “He hardly swallowed more than a mouthful.”

“That’s better than nothing.”

 

Sanji made no reply to this. He had moved to sit on the bed alongside the swordsman, to make supporting him easier while Chopper had tried to get him to drink. Now he found he didn’t want to move away. Zoro’s head rested a little to one side on the pillow, facing the cook. Sanji reached out and lightly ran his fingers into the swordsman’s hair, stroking through its cropped softness. It was faintly damp and dark with sweat: heat was coming off every inch of Zoro’s skin. Sanji could feel it where the swordsman’s shoulder rested against his thigh. “Is his fever going down?”

“No. But it’s not going up, either.”

“Is there any way of bringing his temperature down? Would that help?”

“The things we’ve already been doing are helping.” Usopp’s fan was still ticking away, blowing its reliable stream of cool air across the bed; they had taken away most of the covers and Zoro now just lay under a sheet. From time to time, Chopper or Kawashima had bathed the swordsman’s neck, arms and head with a cooling infusion.

“I read once about doctors giving people ice baths, something like that… Couldn’t we…”

“Trying just to get rid of this fever by drastic means wouldn’t work. The fever is something Zoro’s body is creating, to try to fight the toxins in his system. We could lower his body temperature radically, but that would only put more stress on him. It’s not just the fever that’s the problem, Sanji… It’s the underlying cause. We need to just support him to come through this on his own.”

“Right.” Sanji kept his fingers moving gently. “And wait.”

“And wait. Yes.”


	22. On The Border Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji thinks there is something that could pull Zoro back from the brink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I would post two chapters up today instead of just the one, as the previous chapter was on the short side.
> 
> A massive Thank You to all of you who've been reading, posting comments, bookmarking and leaving kudos. :o) <3  
> It always makes such a difference to know that folks are enjoying this fic... Especially as I'm getting near the end of it. (Writing ends of stories is always tough, for some reason.) Hope you'll stick with it to the end, it should be finished by Christmas.

\-----

_I’m walking down the line_  
 _That divides me somewhere in my mind_  
 _On the border line  
_ _Of the edge and where I walk alone_

_\- Green Day_

 

\-----

 

The pain in Sanji’s back when he woke up this time was even worse than usual. He grimaced with his eyes still shut: stupidly, somehow he’d managed to fall asleep on the couch still sitting up.

He opened his eyes. And blinked. Instead of seeing the couch and main room in Kawashima’s house, he was looking at his own legs, stretched out along a bed. Then he felt the warmth of a body next to him and turned his head, wincing at the stiffness in his neck.

_Oh… yeah._

 

He was sitting propped up more or less against the wall, with one arm still curled around the pillow. Zoro’s shoulder rested against Sanji’s hip, his head fallen towards the cook. Sanji lifted the arm that was stretched around the swordsman, wincing again at the movement, and laid his hand softly against Zoro’s forehead. Heat met his palm.

Sanji sighed. Looking up at the window, he saw that morning light was starting to grow. Sliding his hand down to the swordsman’s shoulder, he let his thumb slowly stroke back and forth, a soothing motion. “Morning, marimo.” His gaze travelled over the other man’s face. “You know, all this is getting pretty old. Any time you want to wake up, that’d be okay with me.”

 

 

 

Kawashima appeared soon after dawn, to relieve the two Mugiwara from the sickroom. Chopper went straight to the couch and curled up for a power nap, while Sanji set about making breakfast, somewhat bleary-eyed. He started by brewing a pot of coffee that while not quite on the same lethal scale as Usopp’s, at least gave him enough of a caffeine fix that facing the day felt more manageable.

He was downing his third mugful and rubbing at his face, wondering if he had the energy or motivation for a shave before breakfast, when a knocking came from the front door. He headed down the passage and opened up, letting Nami and Usopp in. “Morning.” He let out a jaw-cracking yawn as he preceded them back to the main room. “Mh. ‘Scuse me.”

Nami eyed him assessingly. “You look like hell, Sanji. Did you get any sleep at all?”

“Yeah. Some. Enough.” Sanji rubbed one hand through his hair, before giving her a smile. “I’m making omelettes for breakfast. And there’s coffee.”

“Great.”

 

Usopp stood by the couch looking down at Chopper, before giving his small crewmate a gentle prod. “Oi, Chopper. Breakfast.”

“Mmh?” Chopper’s eyes prised themselves open and he stared blearily up at his nakama. “S’morning?”

Nami pulled out a chair at the table, before sitting down. “We’re earlier than usual, but yeah: it’s morning. How’s it going?”

“About the same.” Sanji headed towards the kitchen. “Food in ten minutes. Coffee’s ready now, for anyone that wants it.” A general chorus of assent greeted his announcement.

 

 

 

Once they’d done eating, Nami and Usopp departed for the bedroom with a plateful of food for Kawashima. Chopper sank back into the doctor’s textbooks, muttering about wanting to see if he could come up with anything which might promote Zoro’s speedier recovery. Sanji retreated to the garden for a while, hoping the fresh air would revive his flagging brain.

It was Nami who came and found him out there, working his way through another coffee and a pack of cigarettes. She took a seat on the bench beside him, giving a nod towards the mug and cigarette in his hands. “I was hoping you’d be taking advantage of me and Usopp being here to get some rest.”

“This is restful.” Sanji blew out a stream of smoke.

Nami made an annoyed noise. “You and Chopper both look like the walking dead. Coffee and cigarettes aren’t going to fix that.”

“We’ve all got our ways of coping. This is mine.”

Nami let out a sigh. “Fine.”

 

After a few moments of silence, Sanji said, “Did Robin say anything to you when she got back to the ship last night?”

There was a pause. Sanji looked sideways: Nami was gazing straight ahead at the garden, a small frown drawing her brows downwards. At last she answered his question. “Yes.”

Sanji wasn’t surprised. The two women shared their living space, as well as the lot of being the only females in an otherwise male crew. Despite Robin’s habitual reticence and Nami’s long-standing self sufficiency, he knew that they had a bond that meant they could talk with each other about stuff that mattered. “What did she tell you?”

“What Chopper said to her. And to you.”

That meant that at least Robin hadn’t shared the other bit of information: Kawashima’s bombshell. “Right.”

Nami looked at him. “He’s going to be okay.”

“I know.”

She said nothing more. But after a moment, she shifted slightly sideways on the bench. Slid her arm through his, as she’d done the day before.

 

When they went back into the house, Chopper was still working at the desk in the main room, looking thoroughly frazzled. Sanji walked up and stood behind the little reindeer. “Okay, knock it off for a while. You’ve been at it since breakfast.”

“I’m sure I can find something that…”

Sanji reached over him and shut the textbook he’d been working from. “Enough.” He jerked his head at the table. “It’s lunchtime. Come and sit with the rest of us.” When Chopper still hesitated, Sanji frowned at him. “Don’t make me pick you up and carry you bodily over there, craphead.”

 

Usopp joined them for lunch, his usual sunny demeanour subdued. Sanji had no difficulty understanding why. Having been around Zoro continuously over the last few days, he had become somewhat numbed to the swordsman’s appearance, by necessity. But for his nakama, returning each day with hopes of seeing Zoro recovering only to find him worse must be hard to cope with.

Usopp gave voice to his feelings towards the end of their quiet shared meal. “I can’t believe he’s still not… showing any signs of getting better.”

Sanji glanced at Chopper, before saying, “It’s gonna take time. We all knew that.”

“Yeah, but…” Usopp propped his forehead on one hand. “I feel so fucking _useless_. Just sitting there.”

Nami reached out and gave his ear an admonishing tug. “You’re not useless. Jeez, will all you guys quit saying that? I’m starting to feel like a motivational speaker.”

“I just wish there was something more I could do.” Usopp rubbed at his ear.

“We all do,” responded Chopper.

“There must be _something_ ,” Usopp repeated.

“There’s no magic solutions here, Usopp,” Sanji stated. “Zoro’s really sick, and Chopper and Dr Kawashima are doing everything they can. He might turn the corner in the next couple of hours, or it might take another day.”

 

Usopp folded his arms on the table and rested his chin on them. “I know.” His eyes switched to Chopper. “Chopper… When stuff like this happens, I don’t know how you can be a doctor. I mean, when you’re able to make people get well, sure: but when it’s like this and you just have to wait and hope… I don’t know how you do it.”

Chopper let out a long breath. “I have to believe that I can help people. And I don’t give up hope. Where there’s life, there’s hope. Always.” He looked around the table. “In all the years I’ve been a doctor, treating people, there’s something I’ve learned. Never underestimate the power of recovery. There have been times in the past when someone I’ve been treating seemed beyond hope… but something pulls them through it. Some attachment, to life. I don’t really understand how that works, but it does.”

 

Sanji felt his nakama’s words resonate inside him hollowly.

_\- Some attachment, to life._

 

He stared at his empty plate on the table, not really seeing it. _Zoro doesn’t have any connection to real life right now. Even when he’s conscious, he’s drifting in and out of some dream world that makes it impossible for him to truly see us, to hear us. So how do we change that?_

His gaze fell on his knife, lying across his plate. Light from the window fell across the table, striking the metal and making its edge a bright gleam of silver.

_\- It’s been nine days since I trained with my katana._

 

Slowly Sanji reached out and touched the knife with one finger. Tilted it, shifting the light’s reflection.

_\- It’s just weird. Not having them. I don’t feel right, without my swords._

 

“Usopp.” Sanji spoke through the conversation his nakama had been having, that he hadn’t been listening to any more. “I need you to go back to the Going Merry and fetch something.”

Usopp looked at him, puzzled. “Uh… Sure. What do you need?”

“Not me. Zoro.” Sanji shook his head. “You’re going to bring Wado Ichimonji here.”

 

There were a few moments of silence around the table. Predictably, Nami was the one to speak first. “Wado Ichimonji? Why do you think that’s a good idea?”

“He needs it.” Sanji turned his gaze onto her. “He needs something real, that means something to him.”

“We’re real. We mean something to him. And we’ve been sitting in there every day - ”

“That’s not enough.” Sanji knew what she meant, but he wasn’t going to be deflected. “That sword is part of him. Part of his soul. It has been since - ” He broke off for a moment, looking round the table. “Fuck… You all know what I’m saying makes sense. We took his katana away. For a good reason, yes: but Zoro without his swords? That’s like Luffy without his hat.”

 

Nami met his gaze for a few seconds… before looking at Chopper. “It makes about as much sense as anything else we could do… Doesn’t it?”

Chopper’s eyes had widened. “I… suppose so.”

“At this point, the phrase ‘What the fuck have we got to lose’ springs to mind.” Sanji looked back to Usopp. The sharpshooter nodded slowly.

“I guess…” He also gave Chopper a glance. “It might help. And Zoro needs help, doesn’t he?”

This time Chopper didn’t hesitate: he gave a small but emphatic nod.

Usopp stood up, pushing back his chair. “I’ll be back in an hour, tops.”

 

 

 

Sanji and the others returned to the sickroom, to fill Kawashima in on their intention. The old doctor listened steadily. When Sanji had finished speaking, Kawashima nodded slowly. “I understand your motive. But what makes you think that this… sword will really be of any use? Is it so significant to your friend?”

“It’s hard to explain, but yeah: it really is.” Sanji wasn’t going to share Zoro’s personal history with the doctor, not without the swordsman’s consent anyway. “It’s a long story. But trust me: if there’s one thing that Zoro might recognise when he’s in this state, Wado Ichimonji is it.”

“Very well then. It’s certainly worth trying.” Kawashima looked at Zoro, still lying unconscious on the bed. “Anything that may help is worth trying.”

 

Usopp returned as quickly as he had promised. When the sound of knocking on the front door reached them, Nami got quickly to her feet. “I’ve got it.”

She reappeared moments later, with Usopp in tow. The sharpshooter looked down at Zoro, before turning to Sanji and holding out the long cloth-wrapped bundle. “Here it is.”

 

Sanji took the katana, feeling its weight in his hands. He unwound the cloth, revealing Wado Ichimonji in its white saya. It felt strange to be holding the sword. Normally the only one who handled Zoro’s katana was the swordsman himself. Although Wado Ichimonji was as familiar to the cook by sight as his own cooking knives, he had rarely touched it. And never without Zoro’s consent.

He approached the bed, sitting down on its edge. Carefully he laid the katana on top of the sheet, so that it rested across the swordsman’s body. Then he reached for Zoro’s left hand and placed it on Wado Ichimonji’s hilt: gently closed the other man’s fingers around it and held them there with his own.

There was a long silence in the room.

 

_Come on, marimo. Don’t let me down._

 

Then Sanji felt the hand under his twitch. Zoro’s brows creased slightly. A moment later, his eyes wavered open.

_ Yes _ _._

 

The swordsman’s hand stirred: Sanji felt it lift a little, as if Zoro was trying to raise whatever he was holding, to see it. Keeping his own hand closed around the other man’s, Sanji went with the movement. Wado Ichimonji lifted a few inches, slanting diagonally upwards as Zoro turned his wrist. The cook saw the swordsman’s gaze shift a little, fixing on the katana. The frown between Zoro’s brows deepened, as if he was trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Sanji leaned in closer, speaking to the sick man. “You know what this is. You know what this means, to you.” Zoro’s eyes flickered momentarily to the cook: back to the sword. “You can feel it. It’s real. What it means to you: that’s real. Your promise. Remember, Zoro? You made a promise.”

Zoro’s lips parted slightly. His eyes stayed fixed on Wado Ichimonji, but he seemed to be listening. Sanji tightened his hand, pressing the swordsman’s grip tight on the katana’s hilt. “It’s time for you to get well now. To be strong, so you can keep that promise. You hear me?”

He felt the hand under his move. Then it lifted free of his and Zoro was holding Wado Ichimonji unassisted. His arm shook slightly, just for a moment; then steadied. Sanji felt something expand inside him, a heaviness releasing from his chest.

 

Chopper was suddenly beside him, holding a glass of water. “Get him to drink, while he’s conscious.”

Sanji took the glass, sliding one arm behind the swordsman’s shoulders. Zoro was still holding Wado Ichimonji in front of him, his eyes fastened on the katana. Sanji brought the glass close to his lips. “Zoro. You need to drink this. All of it.”

It took a couple of minutes, but when Sanji took the glass away, it was empty. Chopper refilled it and the swordsman drained it a second time. As Sanji set the empty glass aside he looked back and saw Zoro’s eyes now resting on him, studying his face. He had the sensation that for the first time in days, the swordsman was actually seeing _him:_ not some fever hallucination. The realisation made a smile come onto his face. “Oi… You’re going to be okay, marimo.”

Zoro regarded him a moment longer. Then his lips moved. In a voice husky with disuse, he said, “…That… really you… cook?”

“Yeah. It’s me.” Sanji stroked his fingers against the other man’s shoulder.

Zoro blinked slowly. His gaze shifted back to Wado Ichimonji: slowly he turned his wrist, allowing the katana to come back to rest horizontally across himself. His hand stayed closed on the sword’s hilt. Then he let out a slow breath and his eyes drifted shut.

 

For a few seconds there was silence in the room. Then Usopp spoke, in a voice that though barely above a whisper, carried the relief that they all felt. “Oh man. Did you see that?”

Sanji said nothing, his fingers still resting on Zoro’s shoulder; looking down at the swordsman’s closed eyes. He felt Chopper move closer to him: the little doctor leaned over and took Zoro’s pulse, before stepping back. “It’s still fast… But slowing slightly.”

_It worked?_ Sanji couldn’t move his gaze from the swordsman’s face. “He drank all the water.”

“Yes. That will help.”

“He saw me, Chopper. I know he did.”

“Yes. I think he did, too.” Chopper sounded optimistic. Sanji looked at his crewmate: the little reindeer was smiling at him. “Your idea was a good one.”

 

Kawashima joined them, also bending over the bed and taking Zoro’s pulse, before nodding at Chopper. “He seems to be less agitated: his heart is not racing as it was. And now he has drunk water, sleep is the next best thing for him.”

_Sleep without dreams?_ Sanji fervently hoped so.

Across the bed, Nami grinned at him. “You’re a genius, Sanji-kun.”

“Just a hunch.” He couldn’t stop an answering smile coming to his face.

“What now?” asked Usopp in a stage whisper. “Does this mean he’s going to be all right?”

“It’s certainly a very positive sign.” Kawashima answered. “The fever is still present… It will take a little while to be sure your friend is truly recovering. However, this is definitely progress.”

 

Sanji looked down at Zoro again. The swordsman’s hand was still curled loosely around Wado Ichmonji’s hilt; no longer gripping, simply resting against it. He reached for the sword, to lift it away: then hesitated for a moment, not sure this was the right thing to do. His gaze switched to the swordsman’s face, now set in sleep.

_I’ll look after it for you, marimo. Just in case we need to do this again. And when you wake up, when you’re well: you can have it back._

Slowly and carefully he slid the katana in its saya out from under Zoro’s fingers. The swordsman didn’t even stir.

 

 

 

The day drew on and Zoro continued to sleep, more deeply than he had for the past couple of days. His fever dropped a little: both doctors looked happier about their patient’s state than they had done for since the process began.

As evening approached, Usopp and Nami departed back to the Going Merry. Sanji saw them to the door, where he said to their navigator, “Listen: tell Luffy and Robin there’s no need for them to come up here tonight. The three of us can handle things, now Zoro’s looking like he’s improving. Chopper said he’ll probably sleep right through to tomorrow. Luffy and Robin can head up here mid-morning… Maybe Zoro will even be awake by then.”

“I’ll tell them.” Nami nodded. “And make sure you get some rest yourself, Sanji-kun.”

The cook made an airy gesture. “I’m okay. I’m on a high right now.”

“Well, you look like you’re about to go to sleep standing up, high or not.” She eyed him. “If Zoro’s going to sleep the night through, you could do the same thing.”

“I’ll get my head down later on. I promise on my honour to a beautiful lady, Nami-swan.” Sanji held up one hand solemnly.

“You better. Or tomorrow I’ll kick your ass.” She turned as if to go, then paused as a worse threat evidently occurred to her. “Eh… Never mind your honour. Promise on your kitchen. If you don’t get some sleep tonight, tomorrow I hand over the padlock key to Luffy and tell him he’s got the run of the galley till you get back.”

Sanji blinked. “That… is playing dirty.”

Nami smirked. “Sweet dreams.” With a wink, she headed down the steps and out to where Usopp was waiting in the street.

 

Shutting the door behind his nakama, Sanji shook his head slightly. He walked down the passageway to the little bedroom, where Chopper was sitting at the side of the bed. Propping one shoulder against the doorway, the cook gazed down at the swordsman. “How’s he doing?”

“His fever’s fallen a little more. And he’s still sleeping heavily.” Chopper looked up at the cook. “Which is a good sign, I think. Whenever I’ve treated Zoro for serious injuries, the thing that seems to do him the most good is sleep.”

“Yeah.” Sanji knew what the little doctor meant. Time and again he’d seen Zoro sustain injuries that for most other people would be life threatening; yet the swordsman seemed to possess an ability to heal that was almost unnatural. After his wounds were stitched and patched up, infallibly the swordsman would retreat into sleep and stay there… Often waking not hours but days later, apparently well on the mend and with a huge appetite that he expected Sanji to provide for. Not that the cook minded if that was the case, this time. “You okay sitting with him a while longer? I was going to make some supper.”

“Yes, I’m fine here.” Chopper did look tired, but the tension that had been in him for the past few days had visibly eased. Sanji smiled. Straightening up, he gave one more look down at the sleeping swordsman; then went to make a start on the evening meal.

 

 

 

 

 

It was quiet in the little back bedroom when Sanji took his turn at sitting with Zoro later that night. He found himself struggling to keep his eyes open: now that his fierce anxiety over the swordsman’s state was easing, the fatigue of the last few days was beginning to make itself felt. He tried various strategies to keep himself awake as the hours crept past. Walking a few paces around the room. Standing at the window and breathing in the cool night air. His usual fallback, smoking. None of these was entirely successful, and he was almost relieved when Kawashima appeared in the bedroom doorway.

“Has he woken at all?” The old doctor regarded his patient keenly.

“No. He’s moved a couple of times, but I don’t think he was anywhere near awake.” Sanji also gazed down at Zoro’s sleeping face. “I’ve been talking to him, some.”

 

Kawashima checked the swordsman’s pulse and briefly laid a hand on his forehead, before moving to sit slowly in the chair at the foot of the bed. “He is still feverish. But I believe that is improving, slowly but steadily.”

Sanji rested his arms across his knees, looking at the older man. “So… It looks like he’s going to be okay.”

Kawashima met his gaze. “I’m not entirely sure if you are making a statement, or asking me a question.”

Sanji considered for a moment. “I guess… the latter.”

“Then, in my opinion: yes. I believe now that your friend will recover.”

 

Sanji regarded the doctor for a while. Then let one corner of his mouth lift in a grudging smile. “That’s good to hear.”

Kawashima gave a small nod of acknowledgement, his eyes turning back to Zoro. “I’m only sorry that it was not an affirmation I was able to give you sooner.”

“Better late than never.” Sanji got up and walked to stand at the foot of the bed beside the older man.

“Your friend’s recovery is due in no small measure to his own remarkable powers for healing.” Kawashima spoke quietly. “And also to the equally remarkable care he has received from you and your fellow crew members.”

“Yeah, well…” Sanji gazed down on the swordsman. “Pain in the ass though that idiot marimo is, we’d kind of miss having him around.”

“I am pleased for all of your sakes, that he will be around for some considerable time to come. And as I said, due in great measure to his own strength and the strength of the bond between you all. Certainly my own part in his recovery has not been an entirely honourable one.”

Sanji glanced at the doctor. Kawashima’s expression was calm, but underneath the surface the old man’s face carried a burden of regret, even shame. Sanji hesitated, then responded to the doctor’s admission. “Zoro’s going to recover. That’s what I asked you to do: to get him through this. He’s going to be okay. That’s all that matters. Anything else is… between you and your conscience.”

Kawashima closed his eyes briefly. Then opened them again; gave a single nod.

 

Sanji watched him for a few seconds more… then rubbed the back of his neck and gave a stretch. “Unhh… Meantime, I seriously need to get my head down for a few hours. The world’s starting to look kind of fuzzy round the edges.”

“Your friend Mr Chopper is already sleeping.” Kawashima smiled.

“I thought he might be. But I’ll bet the two of us can fit on that couch. Call us when you need someone to take over here, okay? Or if he wakes up.”

 

As he walked down the passage to the main room, Sanji was hit by such an overwhelming series of yawns that he nearly walked into the wall rather than through the doorway.

_If the two of us can’t both fit on that couch, no problem. I reckon I could sleep on the floor. Hell, right now I could sleep on a pile of rocks._

 

A lamp still burned in the main room, shedding its warm light over the table where Wado Ichmonji lay partly covered in its cloth wrapping. The cook gave the sword a glance, before moving to the couch and looking down at his sleeping crewmate. Chopper was indeed dead to the world, snoring faintly. Conveniently the little reindeer had curled himself up into a ball on one end of the couch, leaving enough room for Sanji to occupy the other end with his own head and shoulders. Fitting the rest of himself around Chopper without waking his crewmate up took a little experimentation; and when Sanji was finally settled he wasn’t so much stretched out as curled into what little room was available… But once he’d pulled a blanket over himself and felt Chopper shift slightly in sleep and settle comfortably against his legs with a faint mutter, the cook let his fatigue take over. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. For the first time in days, the tight knot in his chest had gone. Without it, the tiredness occupying his body was something just to be yielded to. Letting out a long breath, he let himself go.

 

 

 

 

 

“Oi, Sanji!” The voice that penetrated the peaceful blankness he had sunk into was as demanding as the hand shaking him. “How come you’re still sleeping? It’s not night time.”

“Gaahh…” Sanji cracked one eye open, wincing as his shoulder was yanked back and forth. He was both irritated and unsurprised to find Luffy’s face inches from his own, gazing down on him with a disapproving expression.

“Come on… Are you going to sleep all day?” Luffy gave him another neck-jolting shake. “You told us to come in the morning, and here we are.”

“Uzai…” Sanji growled this out, forcing his other eye open. “Quit pawing me or I’m going to kick you clear across the room and out through the wall.”

“I don’t think Dr Kawashima would approve of that.” Robin’s quietly amused tones came from behind Luffy: then she bent down into Sanji’s field of view. “Good morning, cook-san.”

“Eh… Good morning, Robin-chwan.” Sanji changed his scowl into a more-or-less civilised smile of greeting, before using the back of the couch to drag himself up into a sitting position. Once there his smile froze: he put his hand to the back of his neck and groaned. “Crap…” His muscles evidently hadn’t benefited from the position he’d fallen asleep in, and now proceeded to make their abused presence felt.

 

“Mm nn mm.” Chopper, still apparently asleep, hitched himself over onto his other side and snuggled his head more comfortably against the cook’s legs. Sanji winced, before pulling them away. Chopper’s eyes snapped open and he sat up with a startled groan. “Uhh?”

“Sorry, Chopper. But nap time is over.” Sanji indicated Luffy and Robin with his thumb.

“Oh…” Chopper blinked at his two crewmates.

 

“I take it you two did get some sleep, then.” Robin smiled at both of them. “That’s good. I can tell Nami that you followed orders.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sanji got up, rubbing both hands against his aching muscles. “Though my back is now wishing I hadn’t. That crap couch is gonna be the death of me…”

“You must have been sleeping pretty good, not to hear us knocking.” Luffy sat cross-legged on one of the chairs. “We made enough noise to get the neighbours’ attention, but not you guys.”

Sanji let out a yawn. “Whuh… Well, Kawashima let you in eventually, I guess.”

“Actually, we let ourselves in.” Robin also sat down at the table. “I don’t think the door was properly shut. We realised after we’d been knocking on it a little while… It just came open.” She glanced at Luffy, before smiling at Sanji. “Mind you, Luffy was doing the knocking, so maybe that’s not surprising.”

“The door was unlocked?” Sanji ruffled his fingers through his hair and tugged at his rumpled shirt. He was aware that he was not presenting the sartorial standards he usually liked to show around the women on the crew, and wondered if he should go wash up. “Hah… I must’ve not shut it properly when I saw Usopp and Nami off last night.”

“Then it’s lucky that the townsfolk of Muna are law-abiding,” commented Robin, still smiling.

“Yeah. It’s just scumbag pirates like us you want to watch out for,” said Sanji a little sourly. He looked around for his jacket and spotted it on Luffy’s chair… mostly being sat on by their captain. “Get off my jacket, craphead.” He tugged it free and slid his arms into it. “And you guys said the neighbours came out to gawk at you? Figures.”

“They didn’t seem particularly welcoming,” Robin admitted.

“Chicchainingen…” Sanji drawled. “Well, all being well we won’t be around here much longer. They can go back to gossiping about each other.” He reached automatically in his pocket for his cigarettes. His recently-wakened brain was craving nicotine. It was also sending him signals about something else, although for several moments he had no idea what. His gaze travelled from Robin to the table in front of them. Rested on the cloth that lay there, a soft curl of material against the faded wood.

 

Chopper stood up behind him. “I must’ve slept for hours… I’m really hungry.”

“We could all have breakfast!” Luffy suggested enthusiastically. “Sanji, can you make breakfast? We can all help.”

“Cook-san?” Robin spoke more mindfully than their captain, her eyes resting on Sanji. “Is everything all right?”

 

Sanji had put one hand on the back of the chair nearest him and was staring down at the table. “Where…” He looked around the room. “Where the hell is it?”

“Where’s what, Sanji?” asked Chopper.

“Wado Ichimonji.” Sanji reached down and picked up the empty cloth, letting it run slowly through his hands. “I left it here, last night. It was right here, when I went to sleep.” He looked at Chopper, then at his other two nakama. “How come it’s not here now?”

“Are you sure it was there?” asked Robin. “You didn’t put it somewhere else, for safekeeping?”

“I put it there, for safekeeping. I was in the same goddamn room as it was, I didn’t think it needed to be any safer - ” Sanji suddenly remembered the front door of the house, left unlocked. “Shit. If someone got in and found it – Fuck!” He stared at Robin.

_That sword is Zoro’s soul. If some thieving local snuck in here last night and took it while I was asleep, I am going straight to hell. And Zoro is going to be the one who sends me there._

 

Robin saw the dread in his face. “Let’s not panic. It may simply be elsewhere.”

“Sanji – maybe Dr Kawashima took it, to give to Zoro.” Chopper spoke quickly. “Zoro may have woken up and asked for it.”

Sanji looked round at the little doctor, then headed for the doorway.

 

He made straight for the bedroom, hearing his nakama following behind. Approaching the doorway he found himself slowing down a little.

_And if Zoro hasn’t got Wado Ichimonji: if he’s awake, what then? What are you going to say to him?_

Sanji stopped just in front of the doorway, swallowing: then stepped through.

 

His gaze fell on the bed. Which was empty.

 


	23. Unwinding The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoro is lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Getting near the end, almost. Thanks to all of you readers who've stayed with this fic so far, not sure I originally meant it to turn into such a lengthy piece but hopefully that hasn't put anyone off. I really appreciate the kudos and comments so far, you folks are wonderful to take the trouble to communicate. Thank you so so much!
> 
> As long as folks keep reading my fics, I'll keep writing them. Writing... it's an addiction. But kind of a nice one. ;o)

 

\-----

 

_Unwinding the world like a ball of wool_  
 _Found the last end tied round his own finger._  
 _Decided to get death, but whatever_  
 _Walked into his ambush  
_ _Was always his own body._

_\- Ted Hughes_

 

\-----

 

 

 

The sheet lay drawn half off the bed, trailing on the floor. The pillow still bore the impress of where Zoro’s head had rested. But the swordsman was gone.

Sanji stared at the empty bed. For the space of maybe three heartbeats he simply stood there.

 

“Yabai…” Luffy’s voice came from behind his shoulder. “Where is he?”

“Sanji – on the floor, by the bed.” Robin stepped up beside the cook, pointing downwards. Sanji followed her gesture. Just visible around the end of bed was an outstretched arm, hand lying palm uppermost.

Letting out an exhalation, Sanji moved swiftly around the end of the bed, his three nakama following close behind. As he reached the far side of the room, Kawashima’s crumpled form came into view, lying motionless on the floor.

“Dr Kawashima!” Chopper cried out in alarm, bounding forwards even as Sanji knelt by the fallen man. The cook reached out a careful hand and touched the thin wrist that lay across the floor: the skin felt faintly warm. His gaze switched up to the old man’s face: there was blood masking half of it, soaked into the collar of his shirt. How badly hurt he was, Sanji couldn’t tell. “Chopper - he’s out cold.”

“Let’s get him up off the floor. But carefully!” Chopper hovered as Sanji, Luffy and Robin bodily lifted the old man up and laid him gently on the bed. As soon as they stepped back, Chopper leaned over Kawashima, raising an eyelid, carefully examining his face and head. After a few seconds he said urgently, “I need water, and a towel. And my bag. Quick!”

 

Sanji was gone and back in half a minute. As Chopper began to gently mop the blood from Kawashima’s skin, revealing a gash on the side of the old man’s forehead, Sanji stepped back and looked around the room, his eyes searching for some clue to what had happened. The chair that had been at the end of the bed was lying on its side; blood marked the floor where Kawashima had lain, but there were also smears on the wall. He knew before even looking that Zoro’s clothes would be gone. Where they had been folded into a neat pile on the table, there was now nothing.

 

A moan made him turn around to look back at the bed. Kawashima was stirring under Chopper’s ministrations. One hand wavered up and the old doctor’s eyes slowly opened. “Ahh…”

“Dr Kawashima, it’s all right.” Chopper spoke reassuringly, although his face was anything but calm. “Lie still, you musn’t move.”

Kawashima stared up at him, before turning his head this way and that, as though looking for something. Or someone. He tried to speak, making a couple of attempts before he managed to frame the words. “…I tried… to stop him...”

 

Sanji felt as though his stomach was turning into ice. Stepping up close to the bed, he stared down at the old man. “Stop him? Stop Zoro?”

Kawashima gave a slight nod and winced with pain. “I couldn’t… He wouldn’t listen to me…”

“What the hell happened?” Sanji demanded.

“Sanji.” Chopper shot him a look. “He’s hurt, be careful - ”

 

Sanji sat down on the edge of the bed then, his hands clenching into fists. He met Chopper’s warning look and took a deep breath. Looking back at Kawashima, he spoke in a low voice. “I’m sorry. Please. Just tell us, what happened.”

Kawashima blinked painfully, trying to focus on him. “Your friend… He woke up. A little after dawn. I thought I heard him speak: when I looked up, I saw him sit up, then he started to get out of bed. I was worried, I thought perhaps he might be weak from the fever… So I went to him, told him perhaps he should remain resting. He… just asked me where his clothes were.” He took an uneven breath. “He seemed to be stronger, so I brought them to him. When he had dressed, he stood up: but then he became still, staring over there.” The old man pointed with one wavering finger at the empty corner of the room. “When I asked him what was wrong, he just said, ‘She’s here.’ ”

 

Sanji’s skin crawled. _She?_

 

“What happened then?” Robin asked Kawashima softly.

The old man swallowed. “I realised that whatever he was seeing, was disturbing to him. I took hold of his arm and tried to get him to sit back on the bed… And he pushed me away.” Kawashima raised one trembling hand to his forehead.

“Zoro did this to you?” Luffy frowned down at the injured doctor.

“When he pushed me I fell.” Kawashima gestured to the chair lying on its side. “I hit my head against the chair. I was dizzy from the blow… But when I did manage to rise to my feet, I saw he was moving to the doorway, to leave. So I tried to stop him, to get him to sit down. I thought that if I could simply persuade him to wait until I could wake you, that you would be able to reason with him.” Sanji stared at the doctor. However ill-advised Kawashima’s attempt to stop Zoro from leaving had been, the old man had guts. “We… struggled. I don’t think he knew what he was doing, I believe he wasn’t clearly seeing or hearing me.”

_No._ Sanji shut his eyes. _This isn’t supposed to be happening. He was getting better, last night he seemed better -_

“He took hold of me, pushed me back against the wall… I don’t remember anything after that.” Kawashima sounded wrung out by his account. “Then I opened my eyes and I was here on the bed… with you all looking down at me.”

 

A hand closed around Sanji’s arm. “Cook-san.” He opened his eyes. Robin spoke again, her voice breaking through the clamouring thoughts rising in his brain. “We must look for him. He may not have gone far.”

Sanji nodded. “Yeah. We should - ” He was getting to his feet, one hand fisted in his hair, still gazing down at Kawashima lying bloody on the bed. _He came into the other room. When we were sleeping. He came in and took Wado Ichimonji and left, and I slept right through it all._ “Fuck. _Fuck_.”

 

Robin kept hold of his arm, her fingers tightening until the cook brought his gaze up to her. When she saw that he was really listening, she gave a small shake of her head. “We will find him. I’ll go back to the Going Merry, Zoro may have simply returned there. You and Luffy start searching the local streets, ask if anyone has seen him.”

The cook took a short, steadying breath. Tried to tamp down the fear that was climbing inside him. “Okay. We’ll get on it.” He looked at Luffy. “Let’s get moving.”

“Yoshi.” Luffy spoke firmly, his arms folded across his chest. “Chopper, you look after Dr Kawashima.”

Sanji was already heading to the door, Robin close behind him. He looked at her. “If Zoro has gone back to the Going Merry, keep him there. Send one of the others to come find us.” He knew that with her Devil Fruit powers, Robin was capable of keeping Zoro on the ship by force if necessary.

Robin gave a nod. “And you also: send word to the ship if you find him.”

 

 

 

Out on the street, Sanji stopped for a moment to look around. Beside him Luffy let out a breath through his teeth. “Eh… Which way are we going to look first?”

“Hell if I know.” Sanji felt the fear threatening to rise up again: ruthlessly shoved it back down. _Where would I go, if I was a swordsman with no sense of direction? Just about any fucking where._ “Robin’s going down, towards the town and the docks. So we’ll head up.”

They moved quickly, threading their way through the back alleys. Occasional Muna townsfolk watched them pass: but when questioned had nothing useful to offer. No, they hadn’t seen a green-haired man pass by. And carrying what? _A sword?_ No, certainly not.

 

Sanji pushed the pace, driving himself on up the hill. Houses began to thin out: it was clear they were drawing near the outskirts of the town. Luffy matched his speed, saying nothing. At last the cook voiced what was burning through his mind. “This is all my fault.”

Luffy stopped dead then. Sanji didn’t realise at first, walking on for a few steps before noticing that his captain was no longer by his side. When he did so he skidded to a halt, turning and looking back. Luffy was standing absolutely still, his arms folded. His gaze was fixed on the cook.

Sanji felt a spark of anger fly through him. “Luffy, what the hell are you doing? We need to keep looking – get a move on!”

Luffy didn’t shift an inch. Keeping his gaze steadily on the cook, he asked in a low voice, “How is any of this your fault?”

 

Sanji gritted his teeth. “I told Usopp to bring Wado Ichmonji here.”

“To help Zoro.” Luffy’s voice was level, almost calm.

“Yeah, some fucking help it’s been!” Sanji shifted on the spot, desperate to be moving forward again.

“You did it to help Zoro.”

“Fuck – Luffy, we don’t have time for this!”

“Why else do you think any of this is your fault?” Their captain still spoke calmly.

Sanji stared at him. Then turned away. “Fine. I’ll go look for him on my own.”

“Sanji.” Luffy’s voice was still quiet, but it was the quiet before the storm. “I will stop you, if you keep on walking. Answer what I just asked you.”

 

For a long moment silence hung between them. Sanji faced the road ahead, not seeing it. Then he turned around. Fixed his eyes on Luffy. “How is this my fault? If I hadn’t dragged him along that day to help me collect seafood for a shitty damn recipe, he wouldn’t have been stung in the first place. None of this would have happened.”

“O, you made Zoro come with you?” One of Luffy’s eyebrows raised slightly, as if to emphasise what a ridiculous notion this was. “Or you asked him?”

“I…” Sanji paused. Frowned. “I asked him. But he wouldn’t have been there if I - ”

“And you told him to pick up that cone shell?” Still in that same calm voice.

“I didn’t – I wasn’t - ” Sanji tried to put into words, what he’d carrying for weeks. “I should have warned him. What was dangerous, what he shouldn’t have - ”

“This is the _Grand Line_.” Luffy tipped his head a little to one side, regarding him speculatively. “Is it your responsibility to protect us from every danger we come across? That’s impressive. You’re going to be busy.”

 

Sanji said nothing. Inside, he felt Luffy’s words strike home.

“Hah.” Luffy studied his face, assessing the impact of what he’d said. Then he gave a businesslike nod. “Okay. Let’s go.” He started walking up the hill again.

After a moment, Sanji turned and followed after him. As he did so, he muttered, “Since when did you get to be so smart?”

“A captain has to be smart, ne? When his crew act so dumb.” Luffy let out his short laugh.

 

They walked higher through the outskirts of Muna, the street giving way to a dusty track. When Sanji looked up now he could see the hills that rose above the town, settlement giving way to patches of cultivated terraces, sparse woodland and rocky bluffs.

A sound pulled his gaze back down to street level. Ahead of them came a clamour: several voices loudly raised in argument or alarm. A woman wailing, the noise rising and falling above the other shouts.

_Trouble._ His stomach tightened at it, but he tugged on Luffy’s arm, nodding in the direction from which the noise was coming. “That way.”

 

They rounded a corner between two houses and saw a knot of people gathered in front of a doorway: men arguing with each other, women lamenting and a handful of children being alternately scolded or wrapped in smothering maternal embraces. Unsurprisingly, the children were also lending their voices to the general uproar. The two Mugiwara regarded the prospect with alarm. Then steeling himself, Sanji stepped up to the nearest man and tapped him on the shoulder. “Oi… What’s going on?”

The man turned to him, shaking his head with a wide-eyed expression. “A terrible thing! Some children were attacked up in the woods, by a madman with a sword!”

Sanji felt the world pour through him like an icy rush of water. “Attacked? With a…” His mouth was dry: he had to swallow before he could go on. “Were they… Were any of them hurt?”

“What do you think?” The man threw up his hands in disbelief. “That’s the mother of one of them you can hear in there, screaming the house down! I daresay she can tell you, if you want to know so badly what happened!”

Sanji took one step back, letting go of the man’s shoulder. His gaze shifted to the house doorway. Then he set his shoulder into the crowd milling around the doorway and pushed through them as though they weren’t there.

 

It was darker inside the house: for a moment the cook couldn’t see properly and had to stand to let his eyes adjust. He felt Luffy join him, having also thrust his way through the crowd outside. Slowly he began to see what was in front of him: a few people standing around a woman sitting on the floor, crying loud and long, her arms wrapped around a child lying facedown in her lap. A small boy, maybe six or seven years old.

Who suddenly gave a great squirm and lifted his head, letting out his own protesting wail to match his mother’s.

 

Sanji felt his heart gave a great thump, and the blood seemed to re-enter his body. He put one hand out and gripped the wall beside him, digging his fingers into the rough stone. “Ahh…” He drew in a great, dizzying breath.

In front of them, the mother let out another exclamation: gave her son a smart box round the ears, then hugged him against her chest again. “You wretch! My heart was nearly broken in two when I thought you had been taken from me!” She pressed a kiss onto the top of his head. “Thank god you’re not hurt!”

 

_Not hurt. Not hurt._

Sanji straightened up, letting go of the wall. Swallowing down the tightness in his throat, he took a step forward towards the woman. “Ma’am… What happened?”

The woman looked up at him, her face tear-stained. “My son. He’s all right.”

“Yes. That’s a blessing.” Sanji tried to keep his voice even. “But the people outside, they said he and some other children were attacked. By… by a man with a sword?”

“It’s terrible, terrible!” The woman wrapped her arms tighter around her son, who let out a whimper. “They could all have been murdered!”

“But what _happened_?” demanded Sanji again, finding it hard to keep the urgency out of his tone. He bent his gaze on the boy. “Tell me what you  saw.”

The boy hiccupped, blinking wetly up at the cook. “We were playing. Me and my friends. Up in the woods.”

“And how many times have I told you, not to go there without permission!” interjected his mother. “See what happens when you disobey me!”

The boy looked suitably impressed by the awful consequences of his transgression: his eyes brimmed again. “I – didn’t mean to. We were just playing hide and seek.”

 

Sanji gave him a smile, trying to steady him: silently willing the boy to keep talking. He crouched down, bringing himself to the child’s level. “And then?”

“A man came. Up the path. He – he frightened us.” The boy’s lower lip trembled. “He had a sword.”

“What did he do?”

The boy shook his head. “He looked at me… I thought he was a demon. He had blood on his clothes. He asked me if I’d seen her.”

“ ‘Her’ ? Who?”

“I don’t know. There was nobody but us there. I told him we hadn’t seen anyone, but he just asked me again.” The boy’s eyes were wide. “I thought he was going to cut us up with his sword. We were frightened, we cried at him to leave us alone and we ran away.”

The woman hugged him against her. “Thank heavens you did. Who knows what could have happened otherwise.”

 

Sanji slowly got to his feet. He looked at Luffy: the younger man was frowning. “Let’s get out of here.” He turned back to the boy. “This wood, where you were playing: how can we find it?”

“It’s just up the hill.” The boy scrubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. “The path goes there.”

Sanji jerked his head towards the door and he and Luffy headed back outside. As he stepped down into the street, Sanji felt a grip on his arm. He looked round to see a man behind him, having followed them out of the house. The man was frowning, his fingers clenched tight on the cook’s upper arm. “Oi… I know you!”

“I don’t know you.” Sanji pulled his arm free. Even as the words left his lips, he knew he was wrong. The man was one of the locals who he’d seen hanging around opposite Kawashima’s house, two days before.

“You’re one of those damn pirates!” The man raised his voice, attracting the attention of the crowd still clustered around the doorway. “What are you doing here? What has this to do with you?”

“Pirates?” The puzzled query came from someone else standing nearby. “These men are pirates?”

“Lawbreaking pirates! That old fool Dr Kawashima has been allowing them to come and go freely, for days.” The man stepped right into Sanji’s face and jabbed a finger into his chest. “This attack… This has something to do with you, doesn’t it? This killer on the loose… He’s one of you!”

Sanji closed his fingers around the man’s wrist, moving his hand away. “No-one’s been killed.”

“Then before long someone will be!” The man jerked himself loose. “You’re nothing but a bunch of bloodthirsty scum. You’re going to pay for this.”

 

Sanji felt the crowd shifting around them; thickening, closing ranks. _Shit. We don’t have time for this._ He fixed the man with a hard look. “Get out of our way.”

“Or you’ll do what, pirate?” The man leaned towards him. “There’s two of you and a dozen of us.”

“Eh… Sanji.” Behind him, Sanji heard Luffy let out an exhalation. He glanced round: his captain met his gaze with a quick grin. “You go on ahead. I’ll catch you up.”

Sanji gave him a quick nod… before turning back to face the angry local in front of him. “Hey, craphead. I’ve got somewhere else I need to be. But you want to find out just what we can do? Be my guest.” He moved quickly, bringing his leg round in a sweep that took the man’s feet out from under him and sent him sprawling onto the ground. The kick opened up a gap that the crowd was too startled to close: Sanji headed through it, accelerating as he broke free of the throng. As he headed up the track, he heard a loud shout behind him. “Gomu gomu no pistol!”

 

_Go, Luffy._

Sanji put his head down and ran.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zoro looked down at the ground, in front of him. How long he’d been staring at it he didn’t know. Gradually he became aware that he was sitting, cross-legged on the stony earth.

_What am I doing here?_

 

He lifted his head: his gaze found scrubby trees, scattered rocks. A path winding up a sloping hillside, through the trees. He was sitting at the edge of the path, which led on further up the slope, disappearing around a ridge where the woodland thinned out.

A breeze played over his skin. He was sweating, his shirt damp with it: a shiver ran through him. He raised his hand to wipe his forehead; stopped and stared at it.

His fingers were bloody.

 

_How?_

 

He couldn’t feel the pain of a wound anywhere. His eyes fell lower, to his shirt: slowly his fingers reached down and lifted a handful of the cloth. The white bore blotches of bright crimson, which still felt faintly moist beneath his fingertips.

_This isn’t mine._

 

His hand trembled, clenching into a fist.

_What did I do?_

 

His other hand dropped. To where he could feel Wado Ichimonji at his hip. Images clung in his mind like mist, shifting, dissolving when he tried to hold onto them.

_His hands, clenched on someone. Blood trickling down skin._

He shut his eyes.

_Children crying out, in terror._

 

His hand clenched around the katana’s hilt until it hurt. He held onto the pain, willing it to anchor him, pull him back from the confusion in his head.

 

_\- What’s done cannot be undone._

 The voice broke through the children screaming in his head. His eyes shocked open, a breath pulling into him.

_\- But how long will you continue doing this, Zoro?_

 

He lifted his gaze then from the dusty ground. Looked around: then over his shoulder, up the hill. A figure stood there, just where the path reached the crest of the ridge. Too small to be a grown person.

This time his breath broke from him. He found himself getting to his feet.

 

The figure in the distance turned and walked away, disappearing over the ridge.

“No! Wait!” Zoro moved quickly. He wanted to run but his feet stumbled on the uneven ground, making his course unsteady. “Wait!”

His shout echoed from the hillside, coming back empty from the rocks. He kept his gaze on the path ahead and focussed every remaining piece of energy on moving faster.

 

 

 

 

Sanji paused for breath, his hand pressing under his ribs where a stitch was starting to burn.

_Really going to have to cut down on those fucking cigarettes._

The path wound on in front of him between the trees, empty into the distance as far as he could see.

_However much of a head start he’s got, that damn swordsman can’t have got too far, the state he’s in._

It was a shaky hope. Normal rules didn’t apply to Zoro: when anyone else would be incapacitated by injury or illness, the swordsman kept on going. But Sanji wanted to believe it.

The stitch in his side had eased, just enough for him to ignore it. Taking a deep breath and gritting his teeth, Sanji began to move as quickly as he could manage up the hillside.

 

 

 

 

The path was growing rockier and harder to see, threading its way through a landscape that continued to climb. Zoro found himself stumbling, coming down onto one knee. He put a hand onto the ground, steadying himself: took a breath, then stood up again. When he looked ahead the air seemed to shimmer as if with heat haze.

_Where am I going?_

He stayed still for a moment, gazing up the slope. He could feel his heartbeat, hear his own breathing. Beyond that, the feel of air moving against his sweating skin. Ahead of him, the same breeze lifted a curl of dust off the dry ground. His gaze lifted from it, fixing on the way ahead.

A slender dark-haired figure stood up there, looking down at him.

 

“Ahh - ” Zoro took a step forward. At once the figure turned, stepping away and disappearing around a rocky outcrop. “Stop!” He began scrambling upwards, using his hands to help him where the going was steep. His fingers scraped against rough stone; more than once he slid on loose stones, falling again. Pushed himself up and kept going.

He reached the outcrop, one hand holding on to its sharp edge as he traversed it. The path was nothing but a goat track now, dwindling out as the slope finally levelled out onto a small stretch of open ground. After a few yards, this piece of ground ended abruptly, a crumbling edge beyond which there was nothing.

And at the edge, standing watching him, Kuina.

 

Zoro’s feet came to a stop. He took a long breath in. Kept his eyes on her. “I… saw you.”

Kuina said nothing, her gaze steady.

“Why are you here?”

She smiled then. “Because you are.”

He could feel the wind that was blowing up here on this open place, see it tugging at the white cloth of her shirt. “I followed you.”

She shook her head a little, still smiling. “I am where you are. I have no choice.” She turned away a little, looking out over the edge. “I can see for so far from up here. It’s beautiful. Come and look.”

 

Slowly Zoro stepped across the open ground. As he drew closer to the edge he saw the ground fall away, the rock ending in a sheer drop that descended far below to rocky crags and forest.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Kuina still gazed outwards. “The hills, and the trees. The sky. I miss it.”

Zoro took his gaze from the view to look at her. She was standing just slightly beyond his reach: one step and he would be able to touch her. Every part of her was as he remembered, yet there was a cold light about her that didn’t match the daylight around them. As if she was standing in another place where the light came from something other than the sun. “What have we… come here for?”

 

She looked back at him then. “You know. It’s what you want.”

“What I..?” He gave his head a half-shake, trying to clear it. “I don’t… What do you mean?”

Her gaze lowered, to his bloody shirt. “Show me your hand.” Slowly he lifted it. “What’s done cannot be undone.”

“I heard that. Before.” He couldn’t keep his hand outstretched towards her any more: clenched it into a fist. “I don’t remember... what I did. I hurt someone before. My friend. I attacked her. And now, this - I remember blood, children crying - ” He pressed the clenched fist to the side of his head, his eyes shutting. “In my head. There are things that I see, things that I hear. I don’t know what’s real any more. I don’t know if any of this is real. I don’t - ” His chest felt crushed, as if by a great weight.

 

“What do you want?” Her question was quiet and clear.

He managed to take a breath, fighting it past the weight in his chest. Opened his eyes. Kuina was watching him, her face waiting for his reply. “I want this to stop.” His voice came out a harsh whisper.

“That’s in your power. You can be free, Zoro. And so can I.” Her gaze dropped to the katana at his hip. “You could bring Wado Ichimonji to me. And then we could both rest.”

 

_\- Bring Wado Ichimonji to me._

 

Zoro felt his hand on Wado Ichimonji’s hilt; his fingers close tightly around it.

_How can I_

 

Kuina turned her face away from him, her eyes moving back to the view below them. Zoro felt his own gaze follow. His breath caught in his throat.

_\- You can be free._

 

He shut his eyes. Felt the wind moving cool against his skin. Somehow up here, some trick of the breeze carried the smell of the sea inland. Or he was dreaming it. Like everything, become just another dream.

 

If he kept his eyes closed, that was all it would be. Stepping forward. Just another dream.

 


	24. A World That I Wish I Was In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the edge, there are two ways to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for leaving you all on the edge (literally) over Christmas, festive craziness got in the way. That and lack of a decent Internet connection.
> 
> Thank you SOOOOO MUCH (as ever) for reading and for all your feedback, you're all lovely and I hope your Yuletide was brimming with decked halls, good cheer and love in all its forms. Or at the very least, epic quantities of chocolate and/or alcohol. Merry Whatever, one and all.

 

\-----

 

 _I looked into your eyes and saw_ _  
__A world that does not exist_ _  
__I looked into your eyes_ _  
__And saw a world that I wish I was in_

_\- VAST_

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

Sanji clambered up the rocky slope, casting his gaze from side to side. He was no longer sure he was on the right trail, the path had all but disappeared. He looked up at the jagged outcrop of rock that seemed to block the way.

_Just keep going. At least if you’re high up, sooner or later you should get a good view of hereabouts, and with any luck you’ll spot him._

He reached the outcrop and leaned on it a moment, getting his breath, before stepping around.

 

There, about ten yards away, was Zoro. The swordsman was standing with his back to the cook, one hand resting on the hilt of his katana, his other hanging loose at his side.

And his feet only a couple of paces away from the edge where the ground ended.

 

Sanji’s first reaction on seeing the swordsman standing in front of him was relief so strong that he sagged, not fully taking in what he was witnessing. “Oi, there you are - ”

Zoro didn’t respond. Sanji saw the swordsman take a step forwards, towards the edge. Disbelief struck white-hot through the cook, adrenalin launching him towards the other man. “ _Zoro_ _!_ Stop!”

He saw the swordsman’s body jerk to a halt, as though physically gripped. Then after a pause, Zoro slowly turned to face him. The swordsman looked at him with a dazed expression, as if he didn’t understand what he was seeing. Sanji slowed his advance, but kept coming. “Zoro - what the hell are you doing?”

 

“Sanji?” The swordsman’s voice sounded as lost as his expression looked.

“I asked you a question.” Sanji was only a few yards from the other man now. Not close enough to get hold of him, yet. “And come away from that edge, idiot.” He took a few more strides closer.

Zoro’s left hand moved to Wado Ichimonji’s hilt and drew the katana, bringing it up in front of him. “Stay away from me.”

 

Sanji stopped dead. His eyes flicked down to Wado Ichimonji’s tip, barely a couple of feet in front of his chest, then returned to the swordsman’s face. “Oi. Put that away. This is no place for a fight.”

“I’m not fighting you.” Zoro gave a half shake of his head, then swayed slightly as if the movement had unbalanced him.

 

_Fucksake!_

Sanji felt his heart almost stop. His eyes measured the small patch of ground behind the swordsman’s feet, to where the edge began. “Okay. No fighting. Good.” He swallowed. “So why are you waving a sword in my face?”

“Keep you back.” Zoro looked at him. “You need to stay back.”

“Right. Because?” Sanji’s eyes slid sideways, trying to calculate if there was any way he could move quickly enough to kick the swordsman’s legs out from under him. _Not without one or both of us going over that edge. Shit fuck shitting hell._

 

Zoro shook his head again and Sanji winced at the unsteadiness that this produced. “I can’t… control this. What’s happening to me.”

“You’re getting better.” In the current circumstances this probably wasn’t the most convincing thing Sanji could have said, but he repeated it anyway. “You’re getting better. The anti-venom is starting to work, Zoro. Yesterday you woke up: you recognised me. Dr Kawashima said you’re going to be all right, you’re going to recover - ”

“ _Look_.” Zoro’s other hand went to his shirt, holding a fistful of it towards the cook. “This is blood. Someone else’s blood. On me.” His fist trembled and he let go. “I don’t even remember what I did. Who I - ” His teeth clenched. “Did I kill someone? Did I kill _more_ than one?”

 

_Oh fuck._

 

Sanji was shaking his head, even as Zoro was still speaking. “Shit, no! Zoro – you haven’t killed anyone. No-one’s dead, I swear it.”

“There were children, screaming.” The swordsman’s eyes flinched. “I remember that. And there's blood, on my hands. I saw - something - I don’t know what I did - ”

“Zoro, listen to me.” Sanji spoke over him, disturbed by how increasingly unravelled the swordsman sounded. “The blood on your hands, on your clothes: it’s Dr Kawashima’s. You got into a struggle with him and he fell and hit his head. But he’s all right: he’s not badly hurt. And it wasn’t your fault, you were hallucinating when it happened. And he knows that. It was an accident. No-one is blaming you.”

“Dr Kawashima? I attacked him?” Zoro swallowed.

“You pushed him away and he fell. But he’s all right.” Sanji made his voice as calming as he could. “And the children: they’re all right too. You didn’t hurt them.”

For a long moment Zoro just looked at him. His arm stayed raised, Wado Ichimonji still pointing at the cook. Sanji took a careful breath. “Please. Zoro. Just come away from the edge.”

 

Zoro looked into the cook’s eyes. They were unwavering on his.

His arm trembled a little, the sword heavy. He tightened his fingers: forced the muscles to steady. His head ached and the cook’s words echoed inside it: joined the other things swirling around there. Half-remembered images and sounds and glimpses, things he didn’t know whether to trust. Memories that could be lies. A world that could dissolve in an instant, reform into something different. His instincts triggered by sights and sounds that weren’t there. Nothing solid to hold onto.

“I… _can’t._ ” He didn’t recognise his own voice, even.

_It’s not real. None of this is real. You’ll think you wake, and that none of this happened. But you won’t ever know if you’re truly awake._

He could hear Sanji’s shallow, unsteady breathing. See the cook’s hands, tightened into fists. The other man adjusting his stance, shifting his balance slightly more onto one foot, the way he did when he was preparing to move. Some part of Zoro’s mind still recognised that: knew what the other man was thinking, that he was planning to try something reckless.

“Zoro.” Sanji spoke doggedly. “You are going to be all right, I promise. Whatever you think, whatever you are seeing right now: it’s going to be okay. I know you’re tired. You can put down Wado Ichimonji. You can rest.”

 

_Rest?_

 

Zoro blinked. Then turned his head, looking back over his shoulder.

Kuina still stood at the edge, her eyes resting steadily on him.

 

Sanji saw the swordsman look behind him, towards nothingness.

_Shit, no –_

He took half a step forward, his heart pounding. Zoro’s head snapped back round, eyes locking with his: Sanji saw the swordsman’s fingers clench around Wado Ichimonji’s hilt, the blade lifting. There was the sudden cold touch of metal against his neck and the cook stopped dead. Zoro’s voice came out, a guttural breath. “Don’t.”

 

Sanji felt his own breath suspend: then draw in, lightly, past the sharpness resting against his skin. His voice came, surprisingly steady. “You fucking idiot. Don’t do this.” Desperation was squeezing his chest, thickening his throat. “Have you forgotten what I told you before? About not giving up? And your fucking promise - have you forgotten that?”

Zoro’s body jolted slightly, as if the cook’s words were hitting him like blows. His eyes pressed shut for a moment, then opened again: fixed on Sanji. “She… told me. That I could set her free.”

“She..?” Sanji stared at the other man. Then realisation hit him.

 

_Kuina._

 

His eyes flicked briefly past Zoro to the empty air behind him, to where the swordsman had looked. There was nothing there, nothing at all. He brought his gaze back to Zoro. The other man’s skin was drained of colour: a shudder ran through his shoulders. But Wado Ichimonji’s tip stayed pressed against the cook’s skin.

_That’s it? You think she wants you to join her?_

Sanji’s mouth set in an angry line.

_Ghost or dream, I don’t care. Like fuck is she taking you._

 

Zoro saw Sanji raise one hand, reaching out towards him. He half-shook his head. “Don’t come any closer to me.” His arm felt heavy: he tried to connect with the earth beneath his feet, reach down to draw strength up from it, to keep his body standing for long enough to finish what he needed to do. “Keep back.”

The cook stood absolutely motionless, his hand still lifted; the tip of the katana barely touching his throat. “You have to believe me, Zoro. This is not the way.”

“I don’t know. What’s real. What I’m doing. I can’t control it.”

“You can. And this is real. This, right now. I’m real.” Sanji took a breath. “Not her.”

 

Zoro turned his head, just enough to see.

Kuina gave him a sad smile. The breeze playing across the edge stirred her hair, lifting it away from her eyes.

 

“Zoro!” Sanji’s voice pulled at him, insistent. “You think that she’s real? You think that I’m the dream?”

Zoro turned his head back. The cook was looking at him. Slowly, Sanji shifted slightly forward. Wado Ichimonji’s tip pressed against the pale skin of his throat; Sanji’s eyes blinked, just for a moment. Then a thin line of blood appeared beneath the blade. The cook was still.

“If that’s what you think, then do it.” Sanji held his gaze. “If you think that she’s real… that what she’s telling you is real and stepping over that edge is the only way to end this, then do it. But first: you have to kill me.”

Zoro couldn’t take his eyes from the small trickle of blood running down. “…You…”

“If I’m just a dream, then killing me doesn’t matter.” Sanji’s eyes stayed steady on his. “Except I’m not, you idiot marimo. I’m real. I'm here. And you don’t get to do this without me.”

 

Zoro couldn’t move.

_Only one more killing._

These last few weeks he had killed, had been killed, again and again. Had seen so much blood; tasted his own in his mouth, scores of times. He had killed Sanji before, in the moonlight on the Going Merry: heard his lover’s last breath leaving. And before that, he'd felt the cook’s knife sliding home into his own stomach, pinning him to the deck as the sharpened steel drove through.

Wado Ichimonji felt so heavy in his hand, yet he held it perfectly still, the tip just touching Sanji’s throat, the pale skin marked only by that single thread of blood. The cook’s eyes were steady too.

One thing, and he could be free. And Zoro wanted to be free.

 

_So fucking tired._

 

If this was a dream and the only way out was more death, then that was nothing new.

 

_\- If I’m just a dream, then killing me doesn’t matter. Except I’m not, you idiot marimo._

 

Zoro was tired to his soul of killing dreams. Sanji’s eyes waited: and his hand was still outstretched. Ready to pull Zoro back, to whatever lay on the other side of this dream or this nightmare or this reality.

_What happens this time?_

 

Wado Ichmonji was solid in his grip. If he turned, he would see her.

 

_\- You don’t get to do this without me._

Sanji’s gaze held him. The cook was close enough that Zoro could smell the cigarette smoke on his clothes; the subtler scents of spices and food and something indeterminable, that was always part of him.

The thin line of blood where his blade’s edge had broken the skin was bright.

 

_It’s time to wake up._

 

A breath pulled into him. Then he let the weight of his katana bring his arm down, until the tip of the sword touched the ground. He saw Sanji’s eyes widen, the cook take a breath – and then Zoro turned his head to look over his shoulder, behind him.

There was the edge of the cliff, and the emptiness beyond, and the rocks and forest below. And nothing else.

 

The breath he’d taken left him. He turned his head back to see Sanji watching him, his hand still outstretched; his face apprehensive, watchful. Hoping against hope.

Zoro raised Wado Ichimonji and saw the cook tense. Then the swordsman slowly slid the katana back into its sheath at his waist. That done, his hands fell by his sides: his eyes closed.

He felt fingers touch his upper arm; close around it, then slowly pull him forward. “Zoro.” Sanji’s voice was quiet. Zoro kept his eyes shut, let himself be moved away from the emptiness behind him. “Zoro…”

 

The strength that he’d been using was all gone now. As he came forward he went down too, coming to his knees on the ground with the cook’s hand on his arm, his head falling against the other man’s shoulder. He felt Sanji’s other arm come up and wrap around him, pulling him close. Heard the cook’s voice, steady, warm breath at his ear. “Oi, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

_I want this to be real._

He could feel the slow circle of Sanji’s hand against his back. He didn’t want to open his eyes, in case that made this a dream and it all dissolved. Like Kuina. Like everything else.

 

“Zoro.” Sanji shifted, pulling back: Zoro felt the cook’s hand shift from his arm to his cheek. Fingers carefully lifting, making him raise his head. “Look at me.”

He opened his eyes. And Sanji was kneeling there in front of him, holding on with both hands, watching him. The cook studied him for a moment, before a small smile came onto his face. “Welcome back.”

“…Back?” It sounded stupid, but it was all he could manage.

Sanji nodded. “You’ve been kind of lost for a while, marimo.” His smile stayed, his gaze searching the swordsman’s face. “Even more than usual.”

Zoro let out an exhalation. Then his eye fell on the cut on Sanji’s neck, and the small line of blood that had run down from it. His brows pulled together, his face filling with disquiet: he lifted a hand and touched the skin, lightly. “I’m… sorry.”

Sanji let Zoro’s fingers rest against his throat, waiting until the other man’s gaze lifted back to his. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

Zoro’s hand dropped. There was a heaviness to the movement that showed how close to running on empty the swordsman was. After a moment he said, “Where… the hell are we?”

“Couple of miles outside the town. Up in the hills.” Sanji gave a brief nod behind him, back in the direction he’d come from. “I followed you up here.”

“On your own?”

“Luffy was with me… He got held up by some locals. He’ll probably show up pretty soon though.” Sanji hoped that this was the case. Certainly getting Zoro back to Muna in the exhausted state the swordsman was obviously in was going to take a while. “Robin was looking for you too, she headed back to the Going Merry to see if you’d gone there. She and the others are probably seriously worried, about now… We better send word down to them as soon as we get back to Dr Kawashima’s.”

 

Zoro’s gaze connected again. “Is he… really okay?”

“He’ll be fine. A cut on his head, a few bruises. You just pushed him out of the way, from the way he tells it. You weren’t trying to hurt him, even if you didn’t really know what was going on.”

“I don’t even remember it.” The swordsman shut his eyes for a moment.

“Don’t sweat it.” Sanji took hold of his arm again: gave it a small shake until Zoro opened his eyes. “My best guess is, some of that stuff you’ll start to remember, the more your head clears. Those shitty dreams are finally easing up. With any luck today was the last time you’ll have any trouble with them.”

“You seem pretty… confident about that.” Zoro looked at him: Sanji saw in the swordsman’s eyes an aching need to believe it.

“Yeah, I am.” Sanji spoke determinedly. “You’re going to be fine. I guarantee it. And you better get back to your old self as soon as damn well possible, because every night I have to spend on that fucking couch of Kawashima’s is another thing you are going to owe me for.”

One corner of Zoro’s mouth lifted. “That… and for stopping me from taking a walk on thin air.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to mention that, but since you bring it up…” Sanji tightened his grip on the other man’s arm until he saw Zoro’s eyes momentarily narrow. “You ever, _ever  _fucking try anything like that again: I will kick you so hard you’ll be spending another week unconscious.”

“Got it…” Zoro acknowledged.

Sanji held his gaze for a long moment. Then he spoke again, simply. “Good.”

 

They were both silent for a while. Sanji let go of the swordsman, easing back slightly to sit cross-legged on the ground. He delved in his pocket for his cigarettes, eyeing Zoro as he did so. The other man was still kneeling, hands resting on his thighs: the seiza position that he habitually assumed. But his head was bent forward a little, his eyes half-closed. Sanji stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it: drew in a mouthful of smoke, then let it go in a half-sigh. “Well… Think you’re up to walking back? Or do you need me to carry your dumb ass down that hillside?”

Zoro’s head came up then, his eyes opening properly. Something like a familiar spark came into his eyes as he frowned at Sanji. “I can manage just fine, shitty cook.”

“Great.” Sanji got to his feet, swatting dust off the seat of his trousers, then extended a hand downwards towards the other man. “Let’s get going, then.”

After a moment’s pause, Zoro clasped the cook’s hand and also stood up. For moment he seemed unsteady, but he released his grip and stepped forwards, walking away from the cliff. With a last glance towards that empty edge, Sanji followed after him.

 

 

 

Despite Zoro’s assurance, they descended the rocky path at a slower pace than they had come up it. Sanji kept an eye on the other man without looking as though he was doing it: he still wasn’t totally convinced that Zoro was going to make it back to Muna. More than once the swordsman stumbled on the rocky ground, but doggedly kept going.

They had been walking for a little while when a shout from further down the slope made Sanji look up, to see the familiar figure of their captain jogging towards them, bounding up the hillside like a mountain goat. “Ehi, Sanji! Zoro!” Luffy let out a gleeful whoop, and sped up.

“Incoming,” said Sanji, coming to a halt on the path as he figured that Luffy would likely cannon into them if they kept on going. Zoro stopped too, waiting with his gaze bent down on Luffy, a slight frown on his face.

 

“Hah, finally!” Luffy came to a halt in front of his two nakama, looking from Sanji to Zoro with a happy grin. “I was starting to think I was gonna have to climb to the top of this mountain!” He wiped his hand across his forehead. “Everything okay?” His gaze rested on the swordsman.

Zoro said nothing: looking at him, Sanji saw that the slight frown was still there. Nodding at Luffy, the cook spoke up. “Everything’s fine.”

Luffy nodded, glancing at him, then back to the swordsman. “Zoro?” His tone was quieter, but demanded an answer.

Zoro returned his captain’s gaze… then gave his own slow nod. “Everything’s… okay.”

“So, you’re not crazy or anything?” Luffy gave a wide grin. “That’s good.”

 Sanji narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, one lunatic on this crew is more than enough.”

“Then we can go back, if everything’s okay.” Luffy turned on his heel. “It’ll be lunchtime by the time we get back to Dr Kawashima’s house. Can you fix us a big lunch as soon as we get there, Sanji? All this running around has given me an appetite.”

Sanji snorted. “That’s a shocker.” He and Zoro were following after their captain, descending down the hillside again. “Oi, Luffy. How’d it go with those locals? They give you much trouble?”

“Nah…” Luffy swept one hand dismissively through the air. “Once I flattened the first few, they all kind of lost enthusiasm for fighting. No guts at all.”

“Fighting the locals?” Zoro sounded a little uneasy at this piece of news. “Why did you guys have to fight the locals?”

“Because we’re pirates!” explained Luffy, cheerfully but not altogether with clarity.

 

Zoro turned his gaze on Sanji, who shrugged. “There’s a longer explanation, but that about covers it. They found out that we were pirates and didn’t much like the idea of having a bunch of reprobates like us in their law-abiding neighbourhood.”

“And you wandering about with your sword didn’t seem to go down too well, either,” added Luffy. “These people have no sense of fun.”

Zoro’s hand dropped to the hilt of Wado Ichimonji. “Because of what I did to those kids…” He swallowed.

Sanji put a hand on his shoulder briefly, before shaking his head. “You didn’t lay a finger on them. They were just scared, is all.” He smiled. “It’ll just add to your fearsome reputation as the Demon Swordsman of the East Blue.”

Zoro gave him a dirty look. “I’d rather not be known as a swordsman who goes after children.”

“Fine. Apart from Dr Kawashima, the locals don’t know your name anyway: so it can be our little secret.” Sanji gestured airily. “Problem solved. Unless of course some of the locals that Luffy dealt with have now woken up and are eager for a re-match when they see us…”

“That’s all right,” Luffy declared, unworriedly. “While I was finishing sorting things out, Chopper and Dr Kawashima caught up with us. I left them explaining things.”

Sanji felt a pang of sympathy for Chopper. “Then let’s hope the locals are better at listening than they were the other day.”

 

 

 

When the three Mugiwara reached the edge of the town they were greeted not by unfriendly locals, but by the two doctors, waiting at the roadside a little way off from the nearest houses. Dr Kawashima was sitting on a large stone, but rose as they approached: Chopper fairly ran at his nakama, his face a picture of relief. “Zoro, you’re all right! We were so worried!”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Zoro managed a smile for his small nakama, though it faded when he turned his gaze onto Dr Kawashima. Taking a breath, the swordsman stepped up to stand in front of the older man. His eyes rested on the cloth bandage wrapped around the old doctor’s head, before he met his gaze. “I… owe you an apology. I’m sorry for what I did.”

Kawashima gave a small shake of his head. “An unfortunate accident. There is no lasting harm done.” His eyes took in the swordsman. “I’m only glad to see you again, young man. As your friend Mr Chopper said, we were all extremely concerned for you.”

 

Sanji nodded down the road, towards the nearest houses. “Are we going to be able to walk through there without winding up in another stand-off with your neighbours?”

“I believe so.” Kawashima also looked towards the town. “I spoke with them at length. They are still unhappy about what happened, but I think I was able to convince them that further conflict wouldn’t be in anyone’s interest.”

“Not theirs, certainly.” Sanji’s mouth tightened a little.

 

Chopper spoke up. “Zoro… We ought to get back to Dr Kawashima’s house. You need rest.”

“I’m okay.” The swordsman spoke stubbornly, but it was clear he was almost out on his feet.

“We need lunch,” proclaimed Luffy assertively. “Chopper’s right, let’s go.” He set off, leading the way down towards the town.

 

 

 

Once they reached Kawashima’s house, Sanji caught Luffy by the shoulder as the younger man was about to follow the others up the steps. “Oi. You need to head down to the Going Merry and let the others know that everything’s okay.”

Luffy’s face fell. “But lunch…”

“Will be ready by the time you get back.” Sanji jerked a thumb in the direction of the sea. “So the quicker you do what I just said, the quicker you’ll be back here to eat.”

Luffy assumed an expression of eager determination. “Right!” He turned on his heel and headed off down the street, one hand pressing his straw hat on tighter so that it wouldn’t fly off with the speed of his passage. Sanji watched him go, giving a slight shake of the head; then went inside the house.

 

He went straight to the back bedroom. Zoro stood by the bed, listening to Chopper with an expression that suggested that although he barely had the energy to stay upright he was putting up his usual stubborn resistance to the little doctor’s instructions. Sanji leaned on the doorframe, his hands in his pockets. “Need any help in here, Chopper?” He deliberately let his gaze rest on Zoro.

Chopper glanced round at him, looking predictably agitated. “I just told him he should lie down and rest. But he won’t do it.”

Sanji nodded, slowly. “Give us a minute, Chopper.” At the little reindeer’s questioning look, Sanji nodded towards the passageway behind him. “I think this falls into the ass-kicking remit rather than medical expertise.”

 

 Chopper nodded. Giving Zoro a final admonishing glance, he walked to the doorway: Sanji stepped into the bedroom to let him through. As Chopper’s footsteps died away down the passage, Sanji simply stood with his hands in his pockets, regarding the swordsman. After almost a full minute of silence, Zoro growled, “What are you staring at, shitty cook?”

“A moron who’s going to be flat on the floor in thirty seconds, if he doesn’t sit down.” Sanji nodded towards the bed. “That big, flat, soft thing behind you: many people have the quaint custom of lying down on them and going to sleep. I suggest you try it.”

Zoro’s eyes narrowed. “I’m fine standing up.”

“You’ll be fine lying down, too. Take it from me.” Sanji took a step forward. “Look, I have lunch to fix. Chopper and Kawashima both could use some down-time, after all this morning’s excitement. And you have about six weeks’ worth of sleep to catch up on. I understand that you’re feeling a little cranky, but for once in your fucking life do what you’re told and get your thick skull down on that pillow for a while.”

 

There was a long pause… Then Zoro sat abruptly down on the bed, which creaked as he dropped his weight onto it. “Okay, I’m sitting on it. Now will you get the hell out of my face, curly brow?”

Sanji let out a long breath. “Why is it, you have to make everything such a battle? You’re ready to drop, you stupid moss brain, I can see it. Chopper could see it: that’s why he told you to rest. Lying down and getting some rest isn’t giving in, or some sign of weakness. It’s giving your body what it needs to heal. So _give it what it needs_ , you stubborn asshole.”

 

Zoro's eyes travelled to where he'd laid Wado Ichimonji on the small table by the bed... then back to the cook. “If I go to sleep... I don't know if I'll wake up here.”

Sanji regarded him steadily. “You're going to have to trust that, at some point. Might as well be now.” The swordsman made no reply, but his gaze rested on the cook. “I'm going to go and fix lunch now. It won't take long: I'll bring you some when it's ready.”

After a moment, Zoro nodded. “All right.” His eyes flicked again to where Wado Ichimonji lay: Sanji could almost see the thought process going through the swordsman's head.

_He's wondering if it's safe. For him to have Wado Ichimonji._

For half a second Sanji wondered about this too. Then his own words about trust replayed in his mind.

_Zoro needs to trust himself. So we need to show that we trust him, too._

 

Sanji waited until Zoro's gaze returned to him again, before speaking. “So. Get some rest, yeah? Lunch'll be an hour, tops.” He moved to the doorway.

“Cook...” Zoro's voice came quietly. Sanji looked back at him. “You can take it with you.” His hand lifted: gestured at the sword.

Sanji gave a half-shake of his head. “No. It'll be better here with you.” He gave a half-smile. “Last time I was looking after it, some bastard came and swiped it while I was asleep.”

After a moment, a rueful answering smile came onto Zoro's face. Sanji nodded at him. “Get your head down. I'll wake you up when lunch is ready.”

 

 

 

 

Preparing and cooking the midday meal took just enough concentration that Sanji hardly noticed the next hour pass. He set rice to cook; sliced and steamed vegetables; boned fish and seared its flesh just enough to be tenderly cooked, while seasoning a sauce with fresh ginger, chillies and spring onions. The kick of the spices prickled in his nose, reviving an appetite he hadn't felt in days. As he finished cooking he realised that the tension that had been knotted in his chest had dissolved, leaving a feeling of ease that hadn't been there for a long while.

He could hear voices from the main room. Chopper and Kawashima speaking quietly, with Luffy's louder tones interjecting from time to time. The Mugiwara captain had returned from the Going Merry in double time, bearing the relieved messages of the rest of their nakama on hearing that Zoro had been found. Sanji had little doubt that before the day was out, the others would want to visit, to see for themselves what Luffy had told them. That Zoro was recovering. That he was going to be all right.

 

_He's going to be all right._

Sanji found himself standing with both hands resting flat on the kitchen counter, his eyes shut. The relief that had filled him like warm sunlight, melting away the fear, was still there. And something else: something that he didn't fully understand, yet.

One hand lifted without thinking, to the small cut on his neck. To where the sharp edge of Zoro's katana had broken the skin. Lightly he rested his fingertips against it, feeling the slight sting.

_I could have lost him._

 

Zoro could have stepped back. Towards Kuina, towards whatever he had seen.

 

Sanji knew. Like he knew his own face in the mirror, like he knew that one day he _would_ find All Blue; he knew that Zoro would do whatever was needful to follow his path. Regardless of the cost.

What Sanji hadn't known until this day, was what that actually meant. How it felt, that Zoro might one day no longer be there.

_We all take it for granted that he's so strong. As if he's fucking immortal._

 

The counter felt cool and smooth under his fingertips. The smells of cooking filled his nose as he breathed in. With his eyes shut, he couldn't see the kitchen: saw instead the edge of the cliff, a pace behind Zoro's feet.

 

_\- Did it ever occur to you, that one of us might not actually make it?_

 

There were so many ways in which their luck could run out. Being a couple of minutes too late. Not moving quickly enough in a fight, when it mattered.

Not being there to give a warning, when a hand reached down towards a shell that lay in the edge of the sea.

 

_\- Is it your responsibility to protect us from every danger we come across?_

 

Sanji found himself gripping the counter's edge. Forced himself to let go, and straightened up.

_He's going to be all right. Because I did get there in time. That's as good as it gets._

Sanji remembered Zoro's fingers, touching light as a breath on the cut on his neck. The weight of the swordsman's head against his shoulder.

_There are no guarantees, on the Grand Line._

Although Sanji had held out his hand and pulled Zoro back, some part of him felt as though he had stepped out instead, into empty air. Into a place where he could feel himself falling.

 

“Oi, Sanji!” Luffy's voice cut through his thoughts. Sanji turned around, to see the younger man leaning through the kitchen doorway, regarding him hopefully. “Do you need some help? I can help in here, if you like.”

Sanji smiled wryly. “It'll be a cold day in hell when I let you help me cook.” He moved towards the stove. “But I'll plate up, and you can carry the dishes through.”

 

 

 

Once he had served up lunch, Sanji took a couple of plates through to the bedroom at the back of the house.

Someone had opened the window and a slight breeze was finding its way into the room, making the bamboo blind sway slightly and tap against the window frame. Sanji placed the plates he was carrying on the table, before looking down at the bed. Zoro lay on his side facing the window, one arm curled up around his head. He'd shed his boots but was still dressed: a blanket was untidily pulled halfway over him, his bare feet sticking out. The steady sound of snoring filled the room.

Sanji found himself smiling. Of all the sounds he thought he'd ever be glad to hear, Zoro's heavy snore had never featured high on the list. But now it felt merely... comforting. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he placed a hand on the swordsman's arm and gave it a gentle shake. “Oi. Sleeping beauty. Wake up.”

Zoro's arm twitched, the snoring cutting off. Sanji saw the swordsman's eyes crease open, before Zoro turned his head and looked at him. The cook reached across and picked up one of the plates, holding it out. “Lunch is served. In bed.”

Zoro pushed himself upright and sat back against the wall, taking the plate of food. “Thanks.” He rested it on his lap for a moment, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Uhh... What time s'it?”

“Little after two.” Sanj reached for his own lunch and savoured the first mouthful, automatically checking the flavour balance.

 

Zoro also took a mouthful of food, chewing slowly. His gaze moved to the window, where afternoon sunlight was angling in to make a bright bar across the opposite wall. “I've totally lost track. How many days have we been here?”

“Four days, since you took the first dose of the anti-venom. Five days since we reached Muna.”

Zoro nodded slowly. “I'll be glad to get the hell out of here.”

Sanji wasn't surprised. “Guess once Dr Kawashima's given you the final all-clear, you'll be good to go.”

“I'm good to go now.”

Sanji regarded him levelly. “One more night here, okay? Chopper said we need to make sure you're not having the dreams any more, before you can go back to the Going Merry.”

A frown pulled Zoro's brows together, but he said nothing more.

 

After they'd both finished their food, Sanji collected the empty plates and stood up. “I'll go wash up. You want anything else?”

“No.”

Sanji nodded towards the jug and glass that stood on the little table. “Chopper said you should still drink plenty of water. Flush what's left of the toxin through your system.”

“He say anything about when I could drink anything stronger?” Zoro shot him a look.

“Let's make sure your brain is at least back to its normal feeble state, before you start scrambling it with alchohol,” Sanji suggested. At the swordsman's scowl, he added, “Think of it as something to look forward to. I'll make sure we've got a few decent bottles of sake in stock in the galley, so when you get back on the Going Merry you can get shit-faced if you want.”

Zoro let himself slide down flat onto the bed, folding one arm behind his head. “I'd settle for one bottle now.”

“Tough. You're not getting it.” Sanji headed to the door. “Enjoy a nice peaceful afternoon nap, instead.”

 

 

 

The lunchtime clear-up took only a little while. Afterwards Sanji went outside to sit in the garden and enjoy a leisurely smoke. He'd been out there for a peaceful half hour or so when footsteps approached him down the stone-flagged path: he turned his head to see Chopper coming towards him. “Everything okay?”

“Yes.” The small reindeer sat down on the bench beside the cook. “Dr Kawashima and I checked on Zoro. He's fast asleep. And the fever is almost gone.”

Sanji smiled at his nakama. “He looked a hell of a lot better when I took him some lunch. Even for just having got an hour's rest.”

“That's the best thing for him, now. Rest and plenty of it.” Chopper swung his legs meditatively back and forth. “If he can sleep without dreaming, then I think he'll recover quickly. Dr Kawashima said that all the signs seem to show that his body has started to overcome the anti-venom's toxic effects.”

“Speaking of toxic effects... He wanted to know when he could start drinking alcohol.” Sanji grinned around his cigarette.

Chopper folded his arms. “As his doctor, I'd advise not for a week at least.”

Sanji raised one eyebrow. “You are fucking _kidding_ me. You expect us to keep him away from beer and sake till then?”

The little doctor gave a resigned sigh. “Two days, then.”

“Even that'll probably be pushing it.” Sanji looked out across the garden. “The minute he gets out of here, he's probably going to head to the nearest bar.”

“That's probably not the best plan,” responded Chopper carefully.

“Good luck with telling him that.” Sanji shook his head.

 

They were both quiet for a few moments after this exchange. At last Chopper spoke again. “Dr Kawashima told me something, while you were making lunch. About the conversation you and he had, a couple of days ago.”

Sanji looked at him. “Yeah?” Chopper's face was sober. “What did he tell you?”

“That he'd concealed the truth from me. And from Zoro. About what happened, the only other time he'd treated a patient for a dream cone sting.” Chopper's head bowed a little. “I never guessed. That he was keeping something so important hidden.”

“Would it have changed your mind, about doing this? If you'd known?”

“Maybe.” Chopper was staring at the ground in front of them. “But I don't think it would have changed Zoro's.”

“He couldn't have done it without you, Chopper. He wouldn't have made it.”

“Dr Kawashima was the one who knew how to prepare the remedy.”

“Dr Kawashima isn't Zoro's nakama. You are.” Sanji waited until the little reindeer met his gaze, before continuing. “When Kawashima told me what happened, before... I wanted to tell you. I almost did tell you. But I knew that it wouldn't have made a difference. You were already working as hard as you could to help Zoro.”

“I trusted Dr Kawashima. I never thought a fellow doctor would conceal something so important. I should have asked more questions.”

Sanji shook his head. “Trusting someone isn't a fault, Chopper. We all wanted to believe this would work. And in the end, it did. Maybe that's all that matters, now.”

 

 

 

At nightfall, after Nami and Usopp and Robin had visited to see their recovering nakama for themselves - a visit that Zoro had continued to sleep through, so deeply that Chopper had told Sanji not to bother waking the swordsman for supper - the house became quiet and still. Dr Kawashima retired to his bed; Chopper lay curled up on the sofa under a blanket. Sanji left his small crewmate in peace, heading instead to the bedroom.

 

He sat down on the bed and slipped off his shoes, before turning and lying down on his side, close behind Zoro's sleeping form. The night was cool and he pulled a blanket up over himself, before sliding one arm softly around the swordsman's body. He felt the heavy rhythm of the other man's breathing pause, but only for a moment. The warm body against his own did not stir. Sanji let his eyes shut and rested his fingers against Zoro's ribs. Let himself go to a place where no dreams were waiting.


	25. In Love With Your Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams or nightmares fade. But do the ghosts that have been walking go with them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. New year, and the final chapter. Writing endings is unbelievably difficult... I was never gonna be happy with this chapter, but I'm as happy with it as I can manage right now. Hopefully I haven't done too shabby a job of it.
> 
> I want to say a massive Thank You once again to all of you who've been reading, giving me kudos, bookmarking, commenting and generally showering me with love. It's been so appreciated, and has made writing (and especially, finishing) this fic so much more rewarding. I can't get over what a wonderful bunch of OP fic fans and writers there are out here. I'm sending cyber hugs and love and general shameless fluffiness in your direction, all of you. :o) <3

\-----

_There's not enough room in this world for my pain_   
_Signals cross and love gets lost and time passed makes it plain_   
_Of all my demon spirits I need you the most_   
_I'm in love with your ghost_   
_I'm in love with your ghost_

_\- Indigo Girls_

 

\-----

 

When morning came, Sanji woke late and slowly, coming up through the veils of sleep a piece at a time. Sounds came first, the quiet noises of birds coming in through the open window. The flow of his own breath, in and out. Then touch: the feel of warmth at his back, the weight of an arm slung over his waist. He opened his eyes and sight flooded in. At some point in the night he and Zoro had traded positions and now he lay on his other side, the swordsman curled against his back with his arm wrapped loosely over him. For a while Sanji just lay there, gazing at the edge of the bed; at the morning light falling across the wall beyond.

A voice rumbled at his back. “You awake, cook?”

“Mhmm,” Sanji acknowledged.

The arm slung over him tightened slightly, pulling him back a little. He let himself be tugged closer against the swordsman's warmth, smiling a little. “Ahh... Sleeping on an actual fucking bed. Luxury.”

 

Zoro's head rested against the back of his: Sanji felt lips press against his neck, before Zoro's low voice came again. “I can think of more interesting things to do in an actual _fucking_ bed.”

“I bet.” Sanji noted how the swordsman's hand was stroking against his stomach now. Starting to creep lower. He placed his own hand over it and interlinked their fingers, gripping firmly to halt their descent. “I gather that means you're feeling somewhat better.”

“Better,” agreed Zoro. “But not as good as I could be feeling.”

Sanji snorted. “I need to get up and make breakfast.”

“What's the hurry?”

“Oi, moss brain... I'm not about to bump uglies with you in the good doctor's back bedroom. Especially since the chances are that he or Chopper might walk in on us halfway through.”

“Seeing as they're both doctors... chances are they won't see anything they haven't seen before,” Zoro suggested.

“Anatomically speaking, maybe. That still doesn't mean I'm going to give them a working demonstration.” Sanji deliberately lifted the swordsman's hand away from his stomach. “Go take a cold shower or something.”

“Shitty cook...” The growl wasn't a hundred percent serious.

 

“Cook being the operative word.” Sanji sat up, swinging his feet from under the covers and onto the floor. He pulled his shoes on, before turning and looking behind him. Zoro lay with his head propped on one hand, gazing at him. His hair was rumpled and his eyes still looked drowsy, but his colour was almost back to normal. Sanji found himself smiling. “You look almost human, marimo.”

Zoro grunted. “Thanks. Coming from a curly-browed freak like you, that means a lot.”

“Asshole.” Sanji leaned back with one hand braced on the bed and pressed a kiss against his lover's lips. He had intended to make it swift and then escape, counting on Zoro's just-awakened state to slow him down: but of course it didn't work out that way. A hand curled around the back of his neck, pulling him in. The mouth beneath his parted and after a moment's resistance he just went with it, letting the kiss deepen. It felt too good not to.

 

When a natural pause for breath came, Zoro kept his hold on Sanji. “Hmm... Sure that breakfast couldn't wait a while longer?”

“You're the one that'll have to wait.” Sanji extricated himself with ease of long practice, eluding the swordsman's other hand trying to snag him and haul him down onto the bed. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Zoro regarded him with a look that signified that defeat was only temporary. “I don't mind, as long as there's plenty of it.”

Sanji allowed himself a smirk of satisfaction. Zoro's recovery seemed to be following the familiar pattern he'd expected: sleep like a hibernating bear in winter, then eat like one waking up in spring. “Fine. I'll be cooking in the kitchen. You should get your ass up and drag it to the bathroom, take a shower or something.”

 

Zoro's brows drew together. “I don't feel like taking a shower.”

“Tough. The rest of us don't feel like inhaling the smell of unwashed swordsman over breakfast.” Sanji shrugged. “It's been days, moss-head. You reek, even more than usual. Overcome your usual aversion to soap and water and do us all a favour.”

“Mouthy bastard...” Zoro scowled at him.

“No-one wants marimo musk putting them off their food.” Sanji moved to the doorway. “Breakfast in half an hour. Don't forget to wash behind your ears.”

 

 

 

In the event Zoro appeared just as Sanji was dishing up, looking more or less scrubbed and with hair still damp. Both Dr Kawashima and Chopper greeted the swordsman with pleased expressions, plying him with questions that Sanji interrupted by setting the food on the table on front of them. “Put a hold on the medical consultation till after we've eaten.”

Chopper, beaming, picked up his fork. “Sorry, Sanji. We just want to make sure that Zoro's feeling all right.”

Sanji indicated Zoro with his thumb: the swordsman was shovelling food into his mouth at a pace that rivalled Luffy in one of his feeding frenzies. “Looks like it, doesn't it?”

Kawashima was regarding Zoro with an expression that was a mixture of satisfaction and wonder. “Quite remarkable. I have never seen a patient recover from such a serious condition so rapidly.”

Chopper, more familiar with Zoro's spectacular powers of recovery, gave a nod. “It's good to see you up and about, Zoro. But you must be sensible: you'll need to continue getting plenty of rest, eat well and build up your strength slowly. You musn't overdo things while you're still healing from the anti-venom. And after breakfast Dr Kawashima and I will give you a full physical, make sure that everything is as it should be.”

Zoro swallowed another mouthful of food from his plate, before gesturing with his fork. “After breakfast I'm going to train.”

“Absolutely not!” Chopper bristled, drawing himself up in his chair.

 

Sanji bent over his own food, tuning out the argument that was swiftly escalating in volume between his two nakama. He favoured Dr Kawashima, who was regarding Chopper and Zoro with consternation, with a friendly smile. “You may want to find somewhere out of earshot of these two if you want to digest your meal in peace.”

As so often happened however, the outcome of Zoro's stubborness and Chopper's persistence was a near dead-heat. Chopper scored a partial victory, whereby Zoro submitted to being checked over by both doctors before being 'allowed' out into the garden to train. Sanji intervened only briefly, making the casual comment that a certain crap swordsman might have trouble finding a certain sword if he didn't listen to what Chopper was saying and cooperate. Zoro gave the cook a filthy look, before grudgingly allowing Kawashima and Chopper to do what they had to.

 

Sanji took advantage of the temporary lull to retreat into the kitchen, busying himself with clearing away and washing up. That done he took inventory of what food remained, placing any leftovers neatly in the refrigerator. _At least Kawashima will have a few days' worth of meals after we've gone._ That they would soon be leaving, he was sure of. He was under no illusions that Chopper's opinion notwithstanding, Zoro would want to return to the Going Merry as soon as possible. Not least because his two remaining swords were there.

Sanji himself wouldn't be sorry to go. He'd spent too many anxious hours in the doctor's house to feel relaxed staying under its roof. And although an uneasy truce seemed to be holding with the locals, he was pretty sure that the Mugiwara had outstayed their welcome in Muna. Probably it would be best for everyone – Dr Kawashima included – if he and his nakama got the hell out of Dodge, soonest.

 

When the kitchen was finally straightened up, Sanji boiled the kettle and brewed some coffee. He stuck his head into the main room: Chopper was sitting at the table, packing away his medical bag. “I made coffee. You or Dr Kawashima want some?”

Chopper looked up. “Oh. I will, thank you, Sanji.” He glanced around. “Dr Kawashima went out, to the market. He needs to replace the things from his medical supplies, that we used.”

Sanji poured a cup and added milk and lots of sugar, before setting it in front of the little reindeer. “I guess we owe him for those. Any idea how much?”

Chopper shook his head. “He told me he wouldn't accept any payment for treating Zoro.”

“Seriously?” Sanji was surprised.

“He said that it was the least he could do.” Chopper picked up his coffee mug and took a careful sip. “I think he still feels bad about having concealed the full truth from us.”

 

Sanji grunted. “Well... That's his call, I guess. But it's not like the old guy can afford to give away his services for nothing.” He gestured around the shabby room. “He's not exactly living in the lap of luxury here. We ought to at least give him something for his time and expertise. Truthful or not... if we hadn't found him, Zoro would have been screwed.”

“I said something similar.” Chopper gazed thoughtfully around Kawashima's room as well. “But Zoro's not the only one who can be stubborn. Dr Kawashima absolutely refused to accept anything.”

“Hmm.” Sanji frowned. “Maybe we can think of some way of recompensing him that he will accept. It doesn't feel right, just high-tailing it out of town without giving him something for having helped us. Not just curing Zoro, although that's what we came here for... But he stuck up for us against the locals, too. That's likely going to cost him in future. After all, his neighbours are his patients, too.”

“I know.” Chopper's brow furrowed. “Let me think on it. I'll come up with something.”

 

Sanji nodded. “Meantime... I assume the marimo got the all-clear from the two of you after his physical, as he's not sulking in here.”

Chopper took on a slightly vexed expression. “He seems to be recovering well. He would recover fully even more quickly if he was to rest...”

“He's training out in the garden, right?”

“Yes.” The sigh with which Chopper said this was equal parts frustration and resignation. “I told him not to overdo it.”

“Then I better go out and check to make sure he's following doctor's orders. And kick his ass when I see that he isn't.” Sanji picked up his own mug of coffee. “Don't worry, Chopper. I'll make sure that stubborn idiot doesn't undo all your hard work.”

 

 

 

 

As Sanji walked out into the garden, warm spring air met his skin. He paused for a moment to breathe in the fresh smells, of plants and moist earth. Reaching down to a small bush of rosemary growing in a cracked terracotta pot beside the house, he rubbed a sprig between finger and thumb, crushing the thin leaves. Lifting his hand to his face he inhaled the resinous aroma, shutting his eyes for a moment. _Warm, woody, slightly bitter, spicy notes._ Dishes cycled through his mind. _Lamb tagine; herbed roast potatoes; apple tart._

The astringent scent on his fingertips grounded him, placed him exactly in the here and now. Standing in this garden, the breeze pushing against his shirt. The taste of good coffee on his palate; the weight of his half-full mug in his other hand. The brightness of the spring sky through his closed eyelids. Somewhere nearby, the woody music of the bamboo windchime he'd heard before, from the window of the little back bedroom.

 

Sanji opened his eyes and took a sip of his coffee. Stood there for a little while, his eyes taking in the things around him. The growing plants. The clouds drifting across the sky.

He finished his coffee unhurriedly, before setting down the empty mug on an empty upturned flowerpot and taking out his cigarettes. Only after he'd lit one did he slowly stroll forwards, following the stone-flagged path that led down to the far end end of the garden.

When he came in view of the bench he stopped, not saying anything. Simply stood and watched the swordsman moving, his back to the cook, in the open space beyond the bench.

Zoro had Wado Ichimonji in his left hand, held straight-armed before him. Then with a flicker the sword's blade span circles either side of Zoro's head; sliced round through the air in a wide arc as the swordsman pivoted smoothly on the spot. Zoro didn't see Sanji watching him: his eyes were closed, yet his hand and arm and whole body moved surely and smoothly.

 

It was something Sanji had seen Zoro do countless times. A formal dance of steel and discipline; a choreography for killing. A sword's purpose was to end a human life... Or at the very least, to damage it. When Sanji's own hands wielded his kitchen knives, it was to create food for the pleasure of his nakama. However much Sanji could appreciate the skill it took to execute the flawless patterns of the kata, it didn't really move him.

But now as Zoro shifted his balance, surely placing each step where it needed to be, the muscles in his shoulder flexing as he brought Wado Ichimonji swiftly through the empty air, the rhythm of the kata sharp and precise and perfect, Sanji felt a strange ache in his chest. He raised his cigarette to his mouth and drew in deep, tasting smoke and smelling the ghost of rosemary on his fingers, eyes narrowed as he watched Zoro. The way the swordsman's brows were pulled together, just a little, in concentration. The flex of the strong fingers on the katana's hilt. The single line of sweat that had run down the side of his face and was tracking down his neck. Sanji breathed out a long stream of smoke, his gaze following every movement.

 

_Why are you staring, idiot. It's just the marimo swinging his sword about. You've seen him do it a thousand times._

 

Yet his eyes took it all in. Every sweep of the bright blade. Every angle and plane of the other man's body, shifting, changing. Graceful, swift, purposeful. The way a flush had risen across Zoro's cheekbones, exertion colouring the skin.

 

_What would I have done. If this had become just a memory. If you hadn't turned around when I shouted your name._

 

Zoro sliced Wado Ichimonji sideways, exhaling sharply as the katana moved like an extension of his arm. Then suddenly he stopped: both hands clasped around the sword's hilt, his arms outstretched in front of him. Holding still for long seconds, only the sound of his breath coming hard in the quiet garden. Then with a final swift movement he swept the sword downwards, the tip pointing to the ground; before reversing and sliding it gently home into the saya on his right hip. His hands lowered, then relaxed against his sides.

 

Sanji stayed silent and still, cigarette between his fingers. He saw Zoro's eyes open, fixing on the garden before him. The swordsman took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. Then he spoke. “Chopper send you out to nag me?”

Sanji flicked ash off the end of his cigarette and took another drag on it before answering. “You know what Chopper told you. I'm not in the business of trying to get common sense to penetrate that thick skull of yours.”

Zoro turned around then, drawing Wado Ichimonji in its saya from his belt. Giving Sanji an appraising look, the swordsman walked over to the bench and sat down, propping his katana beside him. “I feel fine. Pretty much back to normal.”

Sanji strolled towards the bench and also sat. “For a given value of 'normal', maybe.”

Zoro grunted. “I didn't have any dreams, last night. And no... other stuff, today.” His gaze rested on the garden in front of them. “Like I said. Back to normal.”

Sanji gave a nod. “Great. But yesterday you were about to take a long walk off a short cliff, so maybe taking things easy for a couple of days so you don't have any set-backs might not be a bad idea.”

 

A muscle tightened in Zoro's jaw. “Set-backs? That what Chopper said? That unless I sit around on my ass doing nothing I'll start seeing things again?”

Sanji felt the swordsman's quick tension. “No, he didn't say that. And neither did I. I just meant, you've been through the mill. So it wouldn't hurt to pace yourself. Y'know, maybe a little more than you usually do.” There was an unpromising silence at his suggestion.

Sanji looked at the swordsman. Zoro was still frowning at the garden in front of him. Where his hand rested on the bench between them, it was clenched. “Oi.” Sanji spoke more quietly this time. “Is that what you're thinking, that it could happen again? That you'll have some kind of relapse with the dreams, or the hallucinations? Because neither Chopper nor Kawashima said anything like that to me. Did they say something about it to you?”

“No.” Zoro's voice was low.

“Okay then. So, let's assume that's nothing you need to worry about.”

“Easy for you to say.” Zoro's response was brusque.

 

“O, you think?” Sanji felt anger spark up in his chest, a flame kindling out of nowhere as if on dry tinder. “Because watching you about to step off a cliff was in no way stressful for me. Right.”

Zoro's eyes tightened. “It wasn't exactly fun for me either.”

“Yeah? That's good to know. Because for a while there you looked like you were pretty evenly split between whether to step forwards or back.” More words were spilling out than Sanji meant, surfing on a tide of anger. “But lucky for you, I turned up when I did and now here we are enjoying the sunshine in Dr Kawashima's garden.”

 

The look Zoro turned on Sanji then was so dark that for a moment the cook thought he was going to find himself sparring with the swordsman. But after a few seconds Zoro spoke in a voice that was tight with control. “You think I'm not grateful? That you showed up when you did?”

“I'm not fishing for compliments, asshole. But if you think any part of this has been easy for the rest of us, you are a bigger moron than I already thought.” The ache in Sanji's chest made him reckless. “How do you think it feels for me to know that if I'd got there a minute later, we'd have been burying you today?”

Zoro's lips moved, but no words came. At last he took a breath, before speaking in a voice that was raw-edged. “I know that I owe you my life.” His gaze never left the cook's. “I will never forget that.”

 

Sanji felt his own hands tightening into fists. “Is that a good thing? Or a burden?” He watched the other man's face. “That... I don't want that. Your, your _gratitude_ , or some bullshit bushido debt of honour, or however the hell it works. And as for you owing me your life... _You're_ the one that turned away from that cliff edge.”

Zoro lifted a hand. Sanji felt the barest touch, fingertips just meeting his throat. The momentary sting of the broken skin there. “I turned away, because you reminded me what was real.”

“You still had to make the decision. To trust me.” Sanji remembered the feel of the sharp cold blade. How steady it had been. Like the fingers resting on his neck now.

“You told me to _kill_ you.”

“Yeah… Looking back on it, it wasn’t one of my better plans.” Sanji let a corner of his mouth lift wryly. “Spur of the moment thing.”

 

A beat fell between them. Then Zoro's mouth slowly broke into a reluctant answering smile. “Crazy shitty cook.”

“It worked, didn't it?”

Zoro let his hand fall onto the bench. “Fortunately.” Though the half-smile stayed, his eyes searched the cook's face. “What would you have done if it hadn't?”

“Didn't even consider that for a second.” _Steel sliding home. A foot stepping back, into air._ “I know how your dumb moss brain works.”

The smile was gone now. “Bullshit.”

“I told you, idiot marimo. You don't get to do something that stupid without me. Remember?”

“I remember.” The swordsman's dark eyes held Sanji's. Reading what was really there. “Everything you did.”

Sanji felt a flush creep across his face. Suddenly he felt as though he was back at the cliff. Only this time he was the one whose feet were close to the edge. “Yeah, well... I figured whatever got you away alive from that edge, was worth doing.”

 

As as the words left his lips he felt a wrongness break between them. Zoro's shoulders stiffened; his mouth grew tight. _“Whatever?”_

_Shit._ Sweat prickled on Sanji's skin. “Well, it was worth it, wasn't it? When it got you back?” He had no idea where this was going.

Zoro turned his gaze away then, leaning forward with his arms resting across his knees. He made no reply, but bowed his head.

 

Sanji watched the other man. Ventured an attempt to understand what felt like a situation rapidly heading into unknown territory. “Look, it all ended up okay, didn't it? What are you so pissed about, you surly piece of moss?”

“Fuck. You.” Zoro's voice was quiet. Barely holding onto some inner storm, but holding it in nonetheless. Because that was what Zoro did. Kept whatever was going on in that impenetrable brain, that proud heart, unassailable from without. Giving nothing away.

 

_What the hell is going on here?_ Sanji's pulse was accelerating, adrenalin surging in his body. _Fight or flight,_ and this was usually the point where he and Zoro would fight and blow all that spiking body chemistry, burn it out so that afterwards there would be calm of a sort. A thunderstorm that cleared the air. But this felt different. He could feel sharp claws of anxiety digging into his guts. “You are one ungrateful son-of-a-bitch. You know that?” His voice sounded thin. Defensive.

 

“When we fight.” Zoro spoke in that same quiet, barely controlled tone. “I always know. That you've got my back.”

“I...” Sanji tried to keep some kind of handle on what was happening. “Well, fuck, yeah. It's what we do. What nakama do.”

“Yesterday. At the cliff. I knew. That there was no way you were letting me go. That whatever I did, you were going to be part of it.” Zoro's fingers were curled around his folded arms now, gripping tight.

“Yes.” It was all Sanji could say. He was running out of words. And the ones he was saying didn't seem to be helping much.

“I've been ready to die for what I want, since the day I chose my path. But yesterday, you were ready to give up your life for me. Or to let me take it.” Zoro lifted his head and stared out at the garden in front of him, unseeing. “Sanji. I don't want... another ghost. The one I already have is hard enough to live with.”

 

There was stillness. Only the sound of the breeze whispering in the plants in the garden around them. The half-painful beat of Sanji's heart, that only he could hear. “I'm not a ghost.”

“You could have been.”

“So could you.”

“Except you stopped me.”

“Well shit, yeah - ”

“I love you.”

 

Zoro's words fell between them like stones thrown into a pool. Clear sounds. And then ripples spreading outwards, expanding, shivering the universe into fragments.

 

_What_

 

Zoro's fingers were holding so hard onto his own arms that they were digging into the flesh, knuckles bone white.

 

_Never_

 

This time Zoro was stepping right off the cliff edge. Out into nothingness, into the abyss.

 

_We never_

 

It would be as easy, as terrifying, as trusting the beating pulse in his throat against the sharp finality of a sword's edge. For Sanji to say the only words that would stop this fall.

 

“I... love you.”

Sanji's voice barely caught the shivering fragments of the universe. Drew them together. Zoro's eyes closed, just for a moment. Then he turned his head and looked at the cook. His hands released their grip; slid downwards to rest between his knees.

Sanji held the swordsman's gaze and wondered if it was possible to die from adrenalin rush. Though all things considered, right now he felt curiously ready for whatever the universe delivered next in the way of unexpected events.

 

The universe didn't disappoint. Zoro's face transformed with a smile, the way only the swordsman's could, like clouds pulling away from a threatening sky. “...Good.”

Sanji blinked. _“Good?”_ He felt his hackles rise. He'd never pictured this moment happening like this. Hell, he'd never pictured it at _all:_ Zoro confessing his inner feelings being as unlikely a scenario as the swordsman becoming a Buddhist monk. So of course Sanji had never, not for an instant, not in the darkest hours of the night, ever imagined how those three words would be said. And of course, _of course_ he had never imagined himself saying them, either. No way. Because this, this _thing_ that existed between him and Zoro, it was real and it was strong and it was more than nakama but the whole _I love you_ thing wasn't on the agenda.

 

Except, evidently, it was. And trust the fucking marimo to ruin the moment by sounding like he was taking the whole thing in his stride. “That's all you have to say? _Good?”_

Zoro's smile deepened a little. “That's how it feels.”

 

Sanji wanted to grab hold of the swordsman and shake the smile off his face. Either that, or to kick him through the garden wall. He settled for clenching his teeth together. “You have about ten seconds to start making sense, before I go and tell Chopper you're having some kind of weird side effects from the anti-venom. A minute ago you were acting mad as hell about what I did yesterday. Then all of a sudden you come out with a declaration of love - ” Sanji felt himself flushing slightly, but kept going. “Which, by the way, great; although timing-wise, _what_ the fuck?” He regarded Zoro as if he was a previously undiscovered life form. “And when I tell you the same, all you can say is _'Good'?”_

Zoro lifted a hand, then reached sideways: Sanji felt the swordsman's strong fingers close around his own. The contact stopped his tirade, words dying in his throat.

“I was angry at what you did. Because I don't want you to die for me.” Zoro spoke deliberately. “Help me when I was sick, yes. Fight with me... hah, all the fucking time, cook. But not what you almost did.” His grip on Sanji's hand tightened. “You made me promise, back there. Now I'm asking you to promise me. That you'll never do that again.”

“Make sure that I don't have to.” Sanji met the swordsman's gaze stubbornly.

Zoro let out a frustrated breath. “I mean it.”

“So do I, asshole. What part of 'I love you' did you not understand?” Sanji tightened his own hand on the swordsman's, matching the fierce grip. “You don't get to say that, then set limits on it.”

 

Zoro suddenly moved his arm, tugging Sanji towards him until their faces were only inches apart. “I don't want limits. I want you. _Alive.”_

“What a coincidence. That's what I want from you, too.” Sanji gave him a sharp-edged smile, bracing himself against the swordsman's grip. “By way of a compromise: how about we _both_ agree to try to stay alive?”

Zoro's eyes searched his. “You are such an awkward fucker.”

“Best offer you're getting, shitty swordsman. Take it or leave it.”

A single exhalation broke from Zoro. Then he leaned forward and his mouth found Sanji's, pressing against it, pushing it open with his own. And the cook let the warmth in, the clench of their fingers tight enough to bruise. And held the kiss long past the point when lack of oxygen became an issue.

 

Their hands were still locked together when they broke. Lips slowly releasing: but leaning forward until one forehead rested against the other. Sanji found himself smiling. “Eh... That's settled, then.”

Zoro, smiling too, let out a grunt of agreement. “Deal.”

 

And then they were straightening up; eyes holding each other as their hands slowly let go. Sanji leaned back on the bench, stretching his legs across the path in front of them. He felt an overwhelming need to talk about ordinary things. “So. Uh. I guess... we can head back to the Going Merry today.”

“That'd be good.” Zoro too seemed to need some recovery time. Reaching sideways he picked up Wado Ichimonji, resting the katana across his knees.

“The others'll be glad to see you. They came up last night, while you were asleep.” The cigarette in Sanji's other hand, forgotten, had burned almost down to the filter: he carefully stubbed it out. “You know... they were worried as hell about you. They took it in turns to come up and help, the whole time you were sick.”

Zoro's brows drew down momentarily. But all he said was, “I remember.” Sanji glanced at him, surprised. Zoro made a small gesture with one hand. “At least, I think I do. Not all of it, and not clearly. But I remember... waking up, seeing them here.”

“That's got to be a good sign.” Sanji wondered how much of the past few days, the past weeks, Zoro would eventually be able to put together.

“Meaning, my brain might not be totally scrambled?” Zoro raised an eyebrow. “Here's hoping.”

 

Sanji gave it a moment before responding to that one. “You're probably going to have to give it some time. Y'know: be patient.”

“Till I forget all the fucking weird shit I saw?” Zoro said this as if he had no hope of that ever happening.

“Not forget it, maybe. But know none of it was real.” Sanji thought of all the times the swordsman had jolted awake. Of all the nightly fights to the death. “No-one forgets nightmares... the bad ones. But they fade.”

 

Zoro's fingers moved slowly over the white katana lying across his knees. His eyes tightened. “I hope so.”

Sanji watched him. He wasn't going to force this particular door open. If Zoro wanted to do it himself, though... that was different. The cook kept a patient silence: making a safe space, for whatever needed to happen.

 

Zoro's fingers had stilled on Wado Ichmonji. “Some of it seemed... so real.”

Sanji nodded. Kept the space.

The sound of the swordsman swallowing was loud in the silence. “She. Seemed so real.”

Sanji allowed himself a careful breath. “She was. To you.”

“But everything was a dream.” Zoro kept his eyes on the white katana. “Everything.”

Sanji knew what he was being asked. “From what you've told me, about her... She was your friend, Zoro. She would never have asked that of you.”

Zoro's eyes shut. Sanji saw the swordsman's fingers clench on the white saya.

 

_Is it more painful to think that you didn't set her free? Or that she was never there at all?_

 

He spoke softly. “For what it's worth... I don't think you need to set her free. I think she is free.”

Zoro's opened his eyes. But they stayed turned down, on the sword in his hands. “How d'you know that?”

Sanji took a breath in, thinking. Then let it out slowly. “I'm no expert. On... ghosts, or spirits, or what the hell happens to us after we stop living, here. But it makes no sense to me, that the dead would carry grudges. Or burdens. I think... maybe when we leave here, we just leave.”

The swordsman's eyes narrowed a little. “I don't know what I believe. Where she is. Even though I swore that I'd keep the promise, to become the world's greatest swordsman. So that my name would even reach up to... wherever she is, now.” The corner of his mouth lifted a little, just for a moment. “But if she's here with me the whole time, and I just can't see her... Then what does my promise mean?”

Sanji felt Zoro's world shifting on its axis, and knew he had to bring it back. “You made a promise. You have to keep it. That's all.” _Not just for her. For you._

Zoro was silent for a long time. At last, he gave a slow nod. “Then that's what I'll do.”

Right then, Sanji had no doubts about this. No doubts at all.

 

 

They sat together on the bench for a while longer, feeling the sun and the wind and watching the plants in front of them go about the uncomplicated business of growing. It felt like a precious and finite time of peace, despite all that had happened. Despite all that they'd just spoken about.

Zoro was the one to break the silence. “So... We can get the hell out of here, whenever we're ready.”

“Pretty much. Though we ought to wait till Dr Kawashima gets back, Chopper said he'd gone down to the market to re-stock his medical supplies.”

“What are we doing about paying him?”

“He doesn't want paying.” At Zoro's surprised glance, Sanji shrugged. “That's what he said. Although I think we'll figure out a way of doing it anyway. Chopper was going to come up with a plan.”

Zoro nodded. “Okay. So after he gets back, we'll leave.”

“You're really itching to get out of here, aren't you?”

“Yeah.” Zoro looked up towards the house. “I'm grateful for what Kawashima did for me. But I've had enough of this place.”

“Well, we can walk back down to Going Merry. Maybe go via the market, I can pick up some food on the way.”

 

Zoro grunted. “And some sake.”

Sanji rolled his eyes. “Pickled moss-brain.”

“You said you'd get some,” Zoro pointed out.

“Yeah, I did. Though Chopper said you ought to avoid alcohol for a couple of days... Ah, fuck it, I don't know why I even bother relaying that piece of information.” Sanji shrugged. “Right. Sake.”

“I feel like celebrating.”

“Fair enough. Once we get back to the ship I’ll cook you a meal. Something special.”

“Sounds good.”

“How about paella?” A wicked grin curved Sanji's mouth.

 

“Bastard.” Zoro’s fist smacked against the cook’s thigh, although an answering grin came to his own face. “Just try it.”

“Touchy... What, then?”

“Anything. I don’t care.” Zoro shrugged.

“Wow. You really know how to inspire a chef.” Sanji raised his eyebrow. “I’ll do my best to rise to the challenge.” The swordsman just looked at him. “What?”

“You forgot, then?”

“Forgot?”

“What I said I wanted to do. After all this was over.” When the silence stretched a little longer, Zoro added pointedly, “With you, ero-cook.”

 

Sanji furrowed his brow for a moment playing dumb – then his eyes widened innocently. “Oh. _That.”_

“That,” agreed Zoro.

“Y'know, we're not exactly pally with the locals, after all that's gone on. So I think our plan of finding a room somewhere in Muna with a nice comfy bed might be a tad unrealistic.”

“We can improvise.” Zoro's eyes rested on him steadily.

 

_Kitchen floor, then._ Sanji had no doubt that serious improvisation was going to happen, soundproof walls or not. Letting out a mock sigh, he reached out and took hold of the swordsman’s hand, letting his fingers interlink with the other man’s. “You sure that's what you want?” He gave Zoro a searching look. “I cook a mean paella.”

“Fuck your paella.” Sanji felt his hand tugged sideways and let himself follow.

“Sushi, then?”

The mouth that closed on his was hungry and warm. Alive. Sanji closed his eyes and curled his free hand around the back of the swordsman’s head, pulling him close.

 

_We go to the place of nightmares and we return. And the dreams are not real, they fade. But so does everything else._

 

The hand holding his felt like it would never let go.

 

_Sometimes. There are dreams from which you hope you never wake._

 

\-----

 

_We are such stuff as dreams are made on_ _,  
And our little life is rounded with a sleep._

_\- The Tempest_

 


End file.
